Objects in the Rearview Mirror
by Tez
Summary: Eliot's past catches up with him. EliotWhump, Eliot/OC.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Leverage, or Eliot would be shirtless pretty much all the time.

* * *

When it was all said and done, a little part of him still blamed Hardison for the whole mess. Not that Hardison was actually the one behind the ambush, but he was the one who, in a moment of karmic stupidity, had used the 'q' word.

* * *

Eliot tilted his head slightly, feeling his earbud settle itself a little further inside his ear. The stupid thing itched and he was dying to take it out and switch ears, but he was pretty sure Sophie wouldn't appreciate him blowing her cover that way. She stood a few feet in front of him, completely in character as the wife of an Eastern European politician looking to do a little arms trading on the side. Eliot was posing as her bodyguard, which basically entailed standing behind her and looking menacing. He wasn't the best actor on the team by any means, but he had 'menacing' down to an art.

While Sophie and Guiterrez, the arms dealer, hashed out the details of their deal, Eliot tried to ignore Hardison's running commentary in his ear.

"- the first job we've had in like three weeks, and Sophie and Eliot are the only ones who get to play? Man, it is just too _quiet_ these days."

Eliot couldn't restrain the growl that escaped him. Guiterrez's guards glanced over at him but said nothing, and in his ear, Hardison went conspicuously silent. He was about to congratulate himself on getting Hardison to stop complaining when the hacker's voice returned in his ear.

"I know you're not seriously upset that I said the word 'quiet'. Damn, man, leave the superstition in the Dark Ages where it belongs. You know the ancient Mayans believed that if they didn't perform rituals every morning, the sun wouldn't rise? That's what you are, Eliot: you're a superstitious, sun-doubting Mayan."

Eliot gritted his teeth and wondered how Sophie could concentrate with Hardison prattling in her ear. She certainly didn't seem bothered by it.

When he looked back on that day, he pinpointed that as the moment when everything went to hell. Eliot was contemplating the best way to torment Hardison when they got back to the states, and his attention slipped for one crucial moment. The door to the warehouse slammed open and there was a tremendous racket; the noise of two dozen pairs of hard-soled combat boots running on concrete. Eliot was half a second behind Guiterrez's guards, grabbing Sophie and pulling her toward the left-sided door as Guiterrez and his people went for the door on the other side of the warehouse.

They almost made it.

Eliot's ears were sensitized to the noises made by just about every weapon on the planet. The first rapid click-clack was enough to get him to change his course, tackling Sophie to the ground and covering her with his body to protect her. Guiterrez's guards either weren't as quick to react as he was or didn't care as much about the person they were protecting, but in the end it didn't matter. When the hail of bullets ceased, all three men lay dead on the floor.

Eliot judged the distance to the nearest door and did a quick calculation in his head. He could rush the guys carrying the M240s, but that would give Sophie five to seven seconds, max, before he was dead and they were shooting at her. It wasn't nearly enough time for her to get out.

"Sorry," he said under his breath, ignoring Hardison's cursing and Nate's frantic demands to know what the hell was going on. It was Sophie he owed the apology to. It was Sophie who was going to die because he hadn't been fast enough.

"Mr. Spencer."

Eliot stiffened. Beneath him, Sophie was completely still, doing her best not to attract any attention to herself. _Good girl_, he thought, as a glimmer of a plan began to form in his mind. He tilted his head forward, his mouth next to her ear.

"While they're distracted, run," he whispered, and was on his feet before she had time to protest.

He faced the shooters, squaring his shoulders; if they were going to kill him, they were going to have to look him in the eye while they did it. There were nearly thirty men there, all in nondescript street clothes, but the boots gave them away as either mercenaries or local military. The man who'd spoken was grey-haired, in his sixties or so, and held a Glock 17Pro like he knew how to use it. Eliot recognized the gun before he recognized the man; not many people carried the 17Pro, and this was the only man he'd ever met who'd gone to Finland specifically to purchase one.

"Julovich."

"Ah, good." Julovich gave Eliot a perfunctory smile. "You remember me. Do you also remember the ring you took from me?"

He definitely remembered the ring. The Lubenic family had hired him to retrieve it after Julovich killed their grandmother to get his hands on it. It was a nice ring, as rings went, but he was sure it hadn't been worth the hundred grand they'd paid him to retrieve it. He'd chalked it up to sentimental value and taken the money without a backward glance.

"I see that you do. A poor decision, Mr. Spencer, to make an enemy out of me." Julovich held the Glock trained on Eliot's chest, but the men he'd hired had their guns down at their sides. Eliot put his glimmer of a plan into action, moving toward Julovich and his men. Immediately their attention was on him, and Sophie, bless her thieving heart, saw the opening he'd given her and took it, getting noiselessly to her feet and running for the door.

She made it almost out the door before one of the men spotted her. Eliot tensed, ready to spring at the man and take him down before he could shoot her, but Julovich halted his man with a barked command in Russian. The man started to protest and Julovich hit him across the face with the Glock.

"You work for me, and I say the girl doesn't matter!" Julovich snapped, his accent thick. "I am here for Spencer."

"You want me?" Eliot asked, dropping into a fighting crouch. "Come and get me."

Julovich smirked and gestured to his hired fighters. They dropped their guns before they came at him, which told him that they wanted him alive. That was concerning, but breaking and running wasn't an option; not when Sophie and the others were still in the area and could end up hurt. He'd been taken before, and he never forgot that it was a possibility with any job. He was a survivor. He'd be all right.

As the first man reached him, he lashed out, feeling the release of fist breaking bone. A gasp in his ear reminded him that he still wore his earbud. He spared a glance for the door and saw that Sophie was still there, hovering maddeningly just inside the doorway and wringing her hands in helpless frustration.

"Get out," he told her sharply over the com, ignoring her spluttered protests. "These guys mean business, Sophie. They didn't come for you, but they'll kill you if you get in the way." Seeing her hesitate, he growled under his breath, his fist connecting with another attacker's jaw. "Sophie, go!"

She went.

Once she was gone, he let himself fall into the kill-or-be-killed mode he hadn't been able to use since he'd joined the team and had to worry about the other four. It was almost a relief not to have to think of the others; his world narrowed to strike and block, to himself and his attackers.

He took down nearly half of them before they got smart, launching themselves at him in one solid wave of bodies that he couldn't counter all at once. A sharp sting at the back of his neck told him they were better prepared than he'd realized, and he had just enough time to drive the heel of his hand into one man's face, his nose shattering under the blow, before the tranquilizer took hold and Eliot fell into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

If they'd put him in a cell, he could've escaped by now. Cells were deceptively tricky things; while they were made to keep a prisoner in, they also had to have a mechanism to let the prisoner out. Once you figured out the mechanism, you were golden - and Eliot Spencer knew every locking mechanism used in every rotting hole of a prison in thirty-odd different countries.

Instead, they'd used manacles to bind his wrists, and hung him from the ceiling by the chain. The length of the hook they'd attached his chains to had been precisely calculated; his feet just brushed the floor, enough to take a little of the stress off of his shoulders, but not enough for him to push up and unhook the chain. Of course, he wasn't in any shape to be pushing anything at this point, anyway.

He'd done his best to keep track of time, watching the changing guard shifts and tallying the number of torture sessions they'd put him through, but despite his best efforts he'd lost count after what he thought was the third day of his captivity. The hours ran together, a haze of misery punctuated by the sharp agony that came when Julovich stopped in to torture him.

Not that Julovich actually did the torturing himself; oh, no, he had half a dozen hulking goons who were more than happy to take turns causing Eliot pain. Julovich was taking a sadistic glee in the whole thing; at this point, Eliot would've gladly stolen the ring back and returned it in exchange for his freedom, but Julovich didn't seem interested in anything but hurting him. He'd been careful not to do anything that would cause permanent damage to his captive, though, which really worried Eliot. That meant Julovich probably had plans for him, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like them.

He tried not to think of the team. His earbud had fallen out or been taken somewhere between the warehouse and here, and he hoped Hardison would be smart enough to assume Eliot's earbud had been taken and switch operating frequencies to keep from being overheard. Hell, he hoped the whole team was smart enough to know that it was suicide to come after him, and they'd decide to write him off as a loss and fly back to Boston. Deep down, he knew they never would, but it was better than imagining what Julovich would do to the rest if he caught them, too.

The door opened then, and he squinted against the bright light it let in. The building they kept him in was abandoned and in terrible shape, the wooden floorboards rotting under his feet. Someone had taken the time to cover all of the windows in the main room, so the only sunlight he ever saw was when the door was opened, usually to admit Julovich and whoever had Eliot-torturing duty that time.

True to form, Julovich stepped inside, that insane grin firmly in place. Eliot groaned internally when he recognized the man behind him; of all his tormentors, Piotr was the biggest and the meanest, and he seemed to take the most joy in making Eliot cry out from pain.

"Good morning, Mr. Spencer," Julovich greeted him cheerfully. "I hope you are enjoying my hospitality. Piotr has something special planned for you today. Don't you, Piotr?"

Piotr grunted his agreement, and Eliot's stomach sank when he saw the heavy chain wrapped around Piotr's hand. It was his favorite weapon, as the rows of cuts and bruises on his back could attest. He really wasn't looking forward to this.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Eliot was sagging against the cuffs that held him up. Blood flowed freely down his back and dripped onto the floor, and his feet were sticky with it. Piotr was swinging the chain, testing its striking power at different angles, and he didn't even pause when the door opened again. Eliot wouldn't have paid any attention, either - plenty of guards came in and out during the torture sessions - but all of the guards wore boots, and the person who'd just entered wore soft-soled shoes that squeaked lightly against the floorboards.

"I have to say, I'm not impressed."

The voice was new, and female, and oddly familiar. Piotr paused, chain falling to his side as he and Julovich both turned to face the speaker. Eliot would've liked to be able to see who was talking, but since his right eye was completely swollen shut and the left one was throbbing in a way that told him it wasn't far behind, he decided to just be grateful that the newcomer's arrival seemed to have momentarily halted his current beating.

"How did you -"

Piotr was interrupted by a sound Eliot knew well: the sharp whistle of a thrown knife slicing through the air, followed by the dull thud as it hit human flesh. From behind him, Piotr made a gurgling sound, and he felt the impact in the wooden boards under his feet as the big man fell. One of his hands grazed Eliot's leg on the way down. He took a vicious pleasure in stomping on the hand when it hit the ground, although judging from the noise Piotr had made, he probably wasn't alive to suffer the pain of it.

"When I heard you'd captured the famous Eliot Spencer, I just had to come and see for myself. I wasn't expecting to find such an…_amateur_ operation." Eliot could almost make out the woman's shape in the dim lighting as she approached Julovich. "Really, Eliot, I'm surprised at you. I would've thought you could take this bunch with both hands tied behind your back. Or over your head, as the case may be."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Eliot replied sarcastically, or tried to; the words came out a little garbled around his swollen lip and bloody tongue. The woman snickered.

"Nice to see you haven't lost your sense of humor," she told him, and that familiar voice nagged at his memory again. If it wasn't for the pain clouding his mind, he was certain he would have figured it out by now.

"Guards!" Julovich shouted in Russian, fear making his voice thick. "Guards! Intruder!"

"Oh, please," the woman sighed, her tone that of a teacher addressing a particularly slow student. "Did you really think I would leave any of them alive to come to your rescue?"

Julovich and the woman stared at each other, his expression terrified and hers impassive. The tension was abruptly broken when Julovich turned tail and started to run. He made it three feet toward the door before the second knife caught him, and his momentum carried his body another foot forward as he fell. The woman regarded the body, looking thoughtful, then turned back toward Eliot.

"Idiot," she muttered as she reached for the manacles holding his wrists, and he wondered if she meant Julovich or him. The question was on the tip of his tongue when his arms were suddenly freed from the chains, and without their support he found himself crashing to the ground. His vision grayed, and the words slipped away as the darkness pulled him under again.


	3. Chapter 3

Eliot woke slowly, mentally cataloguing his injuries. This wasn't the first time he'd had to do it, and over the years he'd become a pretty good judge of how hurt he was just by gauging the pain. His right ankle was definitely sprained, his right knee bruised and swollen but probably without any permanent damage. His left ankle was sore but tolerable, his left knee relatively intact. His entire back was a seething mass of fiery pain, and a deep breath told him he had several bruised ribs and probably a couple of broken ones as well. Both of his dislocated shoulders had been put back into place. The manacles had left deep cuts in his wrists that throbbed like crazy. His nose was mercifully unbroken this time. Although his right eye was still swollen shut, his left had improved enough that he could see out of it with a minimum of blurriness.

The back of his left hand stung in a way he recognized immediately; someone had started an IV there. He blinked myopically at it, following the tubing up to a metal pole that held a large hanging bag of saline and a smaller one that probably held an antibiotic. His wrists had been bandaged, thick gauze pads cushioning the raw skin. When he shifted position, he felt several tugs at the skin of his back that told him the deeper lacerations had been sutured closed. No wonder he wasn't completely incapacitated from the agony of what had been done to him; whoever had done all of that work must have given him something for the pain as well.

Now that he knew his functional status - not great, but not irreparable - he needed to figure out where he was and who had brought him here. He shied away from the word 'rescued'; just because they'd taken him from Julovich and patched him up didn't mean they had his best interests at heart.

The room was plain, the walls made of the kind of rough wood he'd expect to see in any of the small cabins that dotted the landscape of the Russian wilderness. The simple linen bedding was deceptive, since the mattress he was lying on certainly wasn't standard for a poor country cabin; it was the most comfortable one he'd ever felt. The IV pole hinted that this was probably someone's safe house, since most people who needed safe houses kept them stocked with medical supplies.

He could feel the frustration start to burn in his chest, and he did his best to damp it down. He'd never been good at accepting help from other people, and it irked him that someone had done all of this for him without so much as asking his permission. Not that he would have turned down the opportunity to get away from Julovich, but if there was one thing Eliot Spencer prided himself on, it was being in control. It grated at him, not knowing where he was or who'd taken him. He literally had no control over the situation, and that wasn't a feeling he liked.

Eliot racked his brain, trying to remember what had happened. The first day or so of his captivity was crystal clear in his memory, but after a while all of the torture sessions had started to run together, and he wasn't sure how many days he'd spent in Julovich's clutches. His memory of the end of his captivity was fuzzy and vague, but he did remember a voice…

Without warning, the pieces clicked together in his head and he stiffened in shock, immediately regretting it when his much-abused body retaliated with a sharp jolt of pain. He had to have been hallucinating; that was the only explanation. Days of torture and dehydration could make anyone hallucinate. Probably Nate had figured out some plan to break into Julovich's stronghold, and the woman who'd spoken was Parker or Sophie. His imagination must have mixed it up with another memory, a long-ago rescue from a past captivity. It couldn't have been Tessa who'd saved him this time, because Tessa was dead.

Just the thought of Tessa tore at his gut. Tessa, who'd danced in and out of his life at irregular intervals for nearly six years, always when he least expected it. Tessa, who'd poked fun at him for being such a loner, who would laugh herself sick if she could see him now, humoring Parker and hanging out with Hardison and bonding with Sophie and taking orders from Nate - from _Nathan Ford,_ of all people, the quintessential good guy. Tessa, who'd been the first person to know all of his secrets and love him anyway, and who'd been killed in a bombing he'd found out about just hours too late to stop.

Eliot's mind whirled, images of that burnt-out building in Strasbourg flickering behind his eyelids, and he barely managed to grab the empty basin by the bed before his stomach rebelled. He hadn't eaten anything in days, so all he managed was a series of gut-wrenching dry heaves that sent new waves of agony through his abs and his back.

Dimly he heard footsteps and realized that his retching had alerted whoever else was in the house that he was awake. He was too busy being sick to look up, but a moment later there was a cool hand on his forehead and his hair was pulled away from his face. His _clean_ hair, some distant part of him noted; not only had they patched him up, they'd cleaned him up as well. He would have been grateful if he hadn't been so miserable.

When his stomach had settled, he spat into the basin and set it down, sagging back against the pillows.

"Sorry," he muttered, eyes still clenched shut against the pain. The cool hand moved to his face, stroking his cheek.

"Rest, lover," a woman's voice murmured. His eyes snapped open, his stomach twisting again as he gaped at her in disbelief.

"Tessa," he breathed, feeling like he'd been punched. "You…"

"I'm here, Eliot." Tessa smoothed his hair with gentle fingers, a ghost somehow made tangible, and his head spun. "Rest," she urged him again. "I'll be here when you wake up."

He would have protested, demanded an explanation, but the dizziness was giving way to darkness again. He barely managed to catch her hand as she started to pull away.

"Stay," he whispered, not caring that his tone was perilously close to pleading. "Don't go. Stay."

If she answered aloud, he didn't hear it; the roaring in his ears drowned out the rest of the world. As his eyes slid shut, though, he felt the bed shift as Tessa slid in next to him.

* * *

The next time he woke, Tessa's arm was resting on his chest, her strawberry-blonde hair splayed out on the pillow and tickling his nose. He nuzzled the top of her head the way he did every morning, still half-asleep, and tried to remember why he was so sore. And why her hair smelled different; Tessa always used the same shampoo, herbal stuff that smelled like flowers. She always…

His brain caught up with his body then, and the memory made his breath catch in his throat. It had been three years since he'd woken up like this, with Tessa's warm body snuggled against his. Three years ago they'd fought, and he'd stormed out, and two weeks later she'd been dead.

"Eliot?" Tessa mumbled, half-asleep, and he shook himself out of that train of thought. He wasn't sure how it was possible, but Tessa was here now and he wasn't going to waste time remembering how bad it had been while she was gone.

"Tess," he murmured, his lips pressed against the crown of her head. "Mornin', darlin'."

She shifted in his grasp, rolling over to face him.

"Hey," she said, a smile tugging at her lips as she looked at him. "You've almost got two eyes again."

He reached up instinctively to touch his right eye, wincing when his fingers brushed the swollen skin.

"It's all soft tissue damage," Tessa told him, pulling his hand away from his face and making a tsking noise. "And you messing with it isn't going to help. Hands off."

"Hands on," he rebutted, giving her a roguish grin as he settled his hands on the curve of her waist. His thumbs caressed the bare skin that peeked out from between her tank top and sweatpants, and she threw her head back and laughed.

"Two days ago, you were tortured half to death, and now you're putting the moves on me." She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. "You haven't changed a bit, Eliot Spencer."

"Have you?" His hands stilled on her waist, and he gave her a piercing look. "How 'bout it, Tess? Are you still trying to convince the world that you're just a good-time girl?"

Her smile slipped away as quickly as she did; she was out of his grasp and the bed before he had time to react. However she might have changed, she was still as fast as she'd always been.

"I haven't been a good-time girl since Strasbourg."

"How did you -"

"And I hear you're not the lone wolf you used to be, either," she continued, cutting off his question about what, exactly, had happened in Strasbourg. Clearly she hadn't been killed there, but he was a little fuzzy on the details. "Sophie Deveraux is looking for you."

That brought his train of thought to an abrupt halt. "Sophie?" he asked, confused. Tessa nodded.

"She's been asking questions. Carefully, of course, but word gets around. A friend let it slip that she's offering a quarter of a million for tips on where to find you."

He couldn't help the whistle that slipped out. The team must have exhausted all of their other options if they'd been reduced to paying for information about his whereabouts. He didn't doubt the part about the 'friend' letting it slip; Tessa knew all of the important players who worked their side of the law, and sooner or later all of the underworld gossip seemed to come her way.

"She's got good reason to be concerned about you," Tessa added. "Julovich didn't go to all the trouble of catching you just to play with you a little. He had a buyer."

"A buyer," Eliot repeated. He didn't like the sound of that.

"You remember Julio Cortez?"

Oh, he remembered, all right. Cortez was a bastard of the highest order. Just hearing the man's name made him want to punch something.

"Cortez wanted to buy me?"

Tessa looked thoughtful. "Technically, he wanted to sell you. He had to buy you first, though."

His expression must have made it clear that he needed more information. Tessa sat down in the chair next to the bed, swinging her feet up onto the bed as she started to explain.

"Two months ago, word got out that Cortez was looking for people with wealthy enemies. Sarah Sullivan, Jinx, Keller…"

"And me," he concluded for her. Sarah was a thief - not as good as Parker, maybe, but infinitely more malicious. Jinx had hacked the bank accounts of half a dozen dictators. Keller was a brute, but he was one of the best hitters in the business. Eliot himself had a number of powerful enemies throughout Europe and the Middle East.

"There was even some noise that he might come looking for me." Tessa's smile was wolfish. "That rumor died quickly."

"So did the people spreading it, I bet," Eliot muttered, and Tessa shrugged.

"Only an idiot hunts a hunter," she replied. "Anyway, word gets out that he's in the market, and everyone reacts pretty much the way you'd expect."

"Sarah went off the grid to avoid him," he guessed, and she nodded. "Jinx screwed with every electronic device Cortez owns, and Keller beat the hell out of whoever Cortez sent after him."

"Right on all counts," Tessa agreed. "Cortez figured out that he'd need a little help corralling all of you, so he hired Julovich. Among others."

"He try to hire you?" That was a conversation he would have loved to overhear.

Tessa gave him a crooked smile. "I'm as far off the grid as Sarah is. Farther, maybe."

"You still know the gossip."

"I always know the gossip," she pointed out. "And it's a good thing for you that I do. After Julovich captured you, he contacted Cortez to tell him to come and get you. I got there first."

"Cortez is gonna be pissed."

"Cortez is going to be dead." Tessa leaned back in the chair, looking smug. "Word also got out about why he wanted all of you. He's planning to hold an auction."

"An auction," Eliot repeated, not sure he'd heard her right. "What, like some sort of weird dating thing? Buy your favorite criminal?"

"I believe the idea was more along the lines of 'buy your least-favorite criminal'." Tessa raised an eyebrow at him. "Several of your old friends have RSVPed. The prime minister of Myanmar, the former dictator of Croatia, the Butcher of Kiev…"

"Sounds like one reunion I won't be too sorry to miss."

"Be glad you're missing it. I'm blowing it up." She paused, inclining her head. "Well, I can't take all ofthe credit. I'm footing the bill, but Celia and the twins are doing the actual blowing up."

"Blowing it up," he repeated, before the second part of her statement sank in. "Wait, you hired the _twins_? You hate them!"

"They have their uses." Tessa shrugged. "What can I say? I've mellowed in my old age."

"Old age, my ass," he muttered; Tessa was at least five years younger than he was. "When is the auction supposed to be? How long have I been here, anyway?"

"I brought you here almost three days ago, give or take a few hours." Tessa glanced at her watch. "And the auction is scheduled to start about twenty minutes from now, actually." She gave him a conspiratorial grin. "Want to watch the explosion? Celia's wearing a button cam, and I've got a satellite link on my laptop."


	4. Chapter 4

The quality of the footage wasn't bad, all things considered. As Eliot settled in to watch, though, with Tessa curled up next to him on the bed, he couldn't help thinking that Hardison would have managed to get the transmission in high-def.

"Hey, look, it's Erik Johanssen!"

"Perverted son of a bitch," Eliot muttered darkly. "If he ends up dead, it'll be an unexpected bonus."

"Oh, he will." Tessa tossed a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it expertly in her mouth. "He was one of the buyers they set up for Sarah."

Eliot shuddered involuntarily. It wasn't that he liked Sarah Sullivan - he could barely tolerate being in the same room with her - but no one deserved what Johanssen would have done to her.

"You got Sarah out?"

"The twins are in change of retrieving Sarah and Jinx. Keller broke himself out yesterday." She shrugged, a what-can-you-do gesture. "I wasn't about to tell him to stick around just so I could rescue him later."

A smaller inset box popped up on the screen, showing live video feed of Sarah and Jinx climbing into a large black SUV, followed by one of the twins.

"Speak of the devil," Tessa said, sounding satisfied. "There's the video confirmation; Sarah and Jinx are out. They'll buzz Celia, and she'll set the detonator."

"You're not calling the shots live?" he asked, confused, and she shook her head.

"Too much opportunity for the radio frequency to be intercepted. Lots of bad guys, lots of technology. No, once Celia gets that buzz, she'll be in mandatory refusal until the bomb goes off."

"You're still as paranoid as you ever were," Eliot informed her, and she snickered. Mandatory refusal meant that Celia would ignore any orders to abort the mission. It would keep anyone from contacting her and pretending to be Tessa calling it off. In Eliot's opinion, it was also overkill, but Tessa didn't tell him how to do his job and he wasn't about to start telling her how to do hers.

"This thing drew quite a crowd," Tessa observed, watching as Celia wandered through the audience, giving her facial shots of the attendees. "McClary, Indellicati, D'Amato - at this rate, half the crime syndicates on this side of the world are going to be looking for new management after today." She paused, tilting her head for a better look at the man Celia had just passed. "Whoa, hang on. Was that -?"

"Nate," Eliot breathed, horrified.

* * *

"You hearing me, Nate?"

"Loud and clear," Nate replied, tugging the watchcap further down his forehead. "Remember, nobody deviates from the plan. I'll bid on Eliot, and when I win, Parker, you'll need to be waiting exactly where I showed you. The losing parties aren't going to be happy, and we need to get Eliot and get out before they have a chance to express their displeasure."

"I hate this," Sophie informed them all for the hundredth time, pacing back and forth behind Hardison's makeshift work station. "This is my fault. I should be there, Nate."

"You stay where you are," Nate replied sharply. "I mean it, Sophie. There are plenty of people at this auction who wouldn't mind getting their hands on you, too. You need to lay low so I can concentrate on getting Eliot out of this."

Sophie let out a wordless growl of frustration. Nate understood her anger - they all felt the same way - but it was just too dangerous for Sophie to take an active role in this job. When they'd found out from one of Sophie's former associates that Eliot had been taken to be auctioned off to one of half a dozen seriously bad guys, probably to be tortured and killed, they'd all reacted strongly. Sophie had cried, Nate had ranted, Hardison had come up with several creative new swear words, and someone was going to have to patch the hole that Parker, of all people, had punched in the wall of their hotel room. They'd argued over who was the best person to attend the auction and get Eliot out, but in the end the consensus had been that the only one of them who wasn't likely to be grabbed on sight and added to the list of auctionees was Nate.

* * *

Tessa gave Eliot a look of pure disbelief.

"You work for _Nathan Ford_?" She choked on a laugh, shaking her head slowly. "You. And _Ford_. Good lord, Eliot, I guess you've changed after all. I mean, I could see you working with Sophie, just barely, but _Ford_ -"

"Laugh about it later," Eliot snapped. "Right now you need to call Celia and tell her - oh, damn it, Tessa, you and your paranoia -"

"Mandatory refusal. I can't call it off," Tessa finished for him. She rummaged around in the drawer of the nightstand, coming up with a cell phone. "But you can call your people and tell them to get out while they still can."

Eliot grabbed the phone, punching in a number he knew by heart.

"How long do they have?" he asked as the call rang through.

"Five minutes," she replied, and he swore again, his stomach in knots. If Nate didn't pick up his phone, if he'd turned it off for the job -

"Hello?"

Eliot exhaled, relieved. "Nate, it's Eliot. Don't talk, don't say my name. Just get the hell out of there; the whole place is going to blow." He hesitated, but Nate didn't acknowledge the command. "Nate? Nate, you've gotta get out of there."

"Not without you."

"I'm not there!" Eliot exploded, ready to strangle his do-gooder boss for not having the sense to know when to quit. "Go! Now!"

Apparently, that was enough for Nate. Eliot and Tessa watched through Celia's button cam as Nate turned around and headed rapidly for the exit.

* * *

"Sophie, Hardison, abort. Parker, meet me _now_, we need to get out of here."

"You can't just leave him -" Sophie shouted, and Hardison grabbed her as she tried to make a break for the hotel room door.

"Whoa, girl, hang on. Nate wouldn't ditch Eliot. He - damn, I know you did _not_ just kick me with those wicked high heels -"

"He's not here," Nate informed them in an undertone, ducking out of the warehouse and onto the deserted side street. Mostly deserted; even as he turned the corner, Parker was there, the nondescript sedan she'd hotwired idling in front of the door. Nate slid into the passenger seat, wincing as all three of them demanded to know more. "Everyone shut up. Parker, go!"

Parker never needed much encouragement to stomp on the gas. She did so then, slamming Nate back against the seat as the car did its best to break the sound barrier.

* * *

They were silent for a few moments, Eliot staring at the phone and Tessa toying with a throwing knife she'd seemingly produced from thin air.

"I'm sorry," Tessa said finally. Eliot shook his head.

"You didn't know," he told her, reaching out to cover her hands with one of his. "And he made it out. It's all going -"

Even through the laptop's low-quality speakers, the sound of the bomb was deafening. Celia had barely gotten out of range of the explosion, and they were treated to the view of burning shrapnel flying through the air, a large chunk of flaming wood nearly taking out the camera on Celia's chest.

"Adrenaline junkie," Tessa muttered, rolling her eyes at Celia's disregard for the danger. "I told her, fifty yards minimum distance, but does she ever listen?"

The phone in Eliot's hand rang. He handed it to Tessa, who glanced at it and handed it back.

"What? You don't want to talk to her?"

"It's not Celia," she replied, pointing to the digital display, which showed the caller as 'unknown'. "Her number's programmed in. My guess is that your _boss_ wants to talk to you."

She managed to get the sentence out with a straight face, but Eliot's martyred expression tipped the balance and she burst into laughter as he flipped the phone open.

"I'm glad I amuse you," he told her dryly, putting the phone up to his ear as Tessa meandered out of the room, still giggling. "Hello?"

"Eliot!" his team chorused, varying degrees of relief and exasperation in their voices, and he was startled to feel tears pricking at his eyes. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed them.

"What is this, a conference call?" he asked, clearing his throat and shoving the emotions back down where they belonged, down where he could control them.

"I patched the cell phone transmission into the earbuds," Hardison explained. "I changed the frequency, too, after we lost contact with you."

"Good work," Eliot said, his eyes stinging again. Damn, but he was proud of this team, of this family he'd managed to find somehow. "Wondered if you'd think of that."

"Eliot, are you all right?" That was Sophie, sounding as guilty as he'd known she would.

"I've been worse," he replied truthfully. "Listen, Soph, you did the right thing."

"I left you alone -" she began, but Parker cut her off mid-sentence.

"I'm glad they weren't auctioning you off to be tortured," she volunteered. There was a moment of silence, during which Eliot knew the rest of the team was staring at Parker. "What?" she added, sounding confused. "I am."

"Just tell us where you are, Eliot," Nate said, ignoring the side argument that started between Parker and Sophie about appropriate conversation starters. "We'll come and get you."

He hesitated, glancing at the empty doorway. That was why Tessa had left the room, he realized. She didn't want to be there while he hashed out the details of how he was going to leave her.

"I need to talk to Sophie," he said, making up his mind. "Just Sophie, Hardison; cut the rest of the team off the call."

Parker and Nate both protested at that, but Hardison did as he'd asked.

"Eliot?" Sophie sounded worried. "It's just me now. What's wrong?"

"Listen, Soph, I need a favor."

"Anything, Eliot. You know that."

"I need you to take the team and go back to Boston without me."

"Eliot -"

"Hear me out, Sophie," he entreated, and she fell silent. "Let's say you and Nate had a big fight, all right? And you walked out, and a few weeks later you found out he'd been killed. It would tear you up, right?"

"I'd be devastated," she agreed, the words barely a whisper.

"Right. Now pretend it's three years later and you're in big trouble, trouble you can't get yourself out of, and Nate shows up out of nowhere and rescues you. Wouldn't you need some time with him? You know, to figure things out?"

Sophie was quiet, and he knew she was thinking it over.

"I would," she replied at last, and he could hear in her voice that he'd won. "All right. Two weeks, Eliot. After that, we're coming back and looking for you."

"That's all I need," he said, grateful. "Thanks, Soph."

"Eliot?"

"Yeah?"

"If it were me, I'd do whatever it took to hang on to him." Sophie hesitated. "Or her. You know. Nate, or whoever."

He chuckled. "I get the picture."


	5. Chapter 5

Eliot was half-asleep when Tessa came back into the room, two mugs of steaming hot tea in her hands. He smiled his thanks at her when she handed him one, taking a sip and humming with satisfaction at the taste.

"Chamomile is still your favorite," she observed, taking a sip of her own tea as she sat down next to him on the bed.

"I haven't changed that much."

Her lips quirked into a weary half-smile. They were quiet for a moment, drinking their tea, and then Tessa sighed.

"Do you need a ride to the airport?"

"Why? Are you kicking me out?"

Tessa looked surprised. "No, of course not. But your team -"

"They understand." He reached out to brush his fingertips along her bottom lip, grinning when she nipped playfully at his hand. "I told them…not everything, but enough. I said I needed time. They're giving it to me."

"Time," she agreed, catching his hand and bringing it back to her mouth, pressing a soft kiss to each bruised knuckle. "Best gift in the world."

He looked at her and saw a shadow in her light blue eyes, an ache that he'd never seen before. There was no trace of the sparkle he'd loved so much.

"What happened to you, darlin'?" he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He couldn't help it; he couldn't just sit there and see her hurting. He needed to do something, anything, to ease her pain.

Tessa sighed, turning slightly to look out the window at the falling snow as she tightened her grip on her mug.

"You were right, you know."

He tilted his head, trying to get a look at her expression, but all he could see was the stiff set of her shoulders.

"About what?"

"About me, Eliot. What you said, that day we fought - you were right." She turned to face him then, and his heart ached at the tears glistening on her cheeks. "I was selfish and lazy. I didn't see what was right in front of me because I didn't _want_ to see it. I wasn't thinking of anyone but myself."

"It was hard for you -"

Tessa choked on a strained laugh. "Oh, yes, the poor little rich girl. Gullible little Tessa, tricked by the evil double-dealing bad guy." She shook her head. "No, Eliot, I walked right into the trap. Leontinev offered me everything I wanted on a silver platter and I took it without asking where it was coming from or why he cared so much about keeping me happy."

"He didn't want you to start looking around," Eliot concluded, and she nodded.

"And when I did start looking, after you came and picked a fight with me -"

"And _you_ threw a knife at my head," he interjected, fingering the scar on his upper lip. "Don't forget that part."

" - he put a hit out on me."

Eliot's jaw tightened. "Strasbourg?"

"Strasbourg," Tessa agreed, reaching out to cup his cheek with her hand. "Relax, lover. I can take care of myself, remember? I found the hunter he'd hired and doubled the price for him to reverse the target. Leontinev was in the Strasbourg office when it blew. I was a hundred miles away."

"They said you were there! There was security footage -"

"Faked."

"I saw it myself!"

"It was a good fake." Tessa shrugged. "What can I say? I paid for the best and I got it."

"Everyone thought you were dead."

She nodded. "I decided it was best to disappear for a while. Figure things out, get my head on straight again."

"That took you three years?"

Tessa smiled, taking a sip from her mug of tea.

"Who said I was finished?"

He lifted his own mug, wincing a little at the pain the motion caused him. He contemplated the dark liquid for a moment, trying to decide how best to phrase the question.

"You knew I'd come looking for you," he said finally. "No matter what I said, you had to know I'd come when I heard. Why didn't you tell me you were alive?"

In response, she slid off of the bed, padding to the door in her stocking feet before turning to face him. "You were wrong that day, you know."

Eliot paused, the mug of tea halfway to his lips.

"You just said I was right."

"About Leontinev, sure. About me being selfish and not paying enough attention. But the part where you said I never cared about anybody but myself?" Her eyes met his, and he could see the ache there again, sharper this time: the pain he'd caused with his thoughtless accusation. "You knew better."

"Aw, Tessa," he groaned, dropping the mug back onto the nightstand and pushing himself to a sitting position as the tea sloshed over the side. "C'mon, Tess, wait! I can't - ow! - I can't exactly chase after you here!"

She hesitated, looking back, and he knew he had to press his advantage while he had it. What, exactly, was the procedure for apologizing for something stupid he'd said three years ago to a woman he loved who'd just saved his life? For the first time, he missed those stupid earbuds. He'd be willing to put up with Hardison's snide comments and Parker's incessant chatter in his ear to get a little of Sophie's advice right about now.

"I'm sorry." He hesitated, watching her expression for some sign that she was considering forgiving him. Her calm façade stayed firmly in place, and inwardly he cursed himself. He of all people knew how long Tessa could hold a grudge. "You know, for what I said."

"Don't apologize, Eliot." Her gaze stayed cool and level, but her knuckles went white as she gripped her mug. He hoped she wasn't about to throw it at him; when she was angry, she had a disconcerting habit of throwing whatever was close at hand. "You meant it at the time."

"But I didn't," he protested. "Damn it, Tess, I was mad! And you just sat there like everything that was going on didn't bother you at all, like you couldn't care less!"

"I _did_ care."

"I know you did." They stared at each other for a long moment. Eliot patted the bed in a clear invitation. Tessa blinked first, walking reluctantly back over to him and perching gingerly on the edge of the bed.

"You didn't answer my question, Tess." He put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Why didn't you tell me you were alive?"

"I thought that, after everything you said, you might not be interested."

"Don't be like that -"

She interrupted him with a sharp gesture. "Eliot, you're not hearing me. Yes, you hurt my feelings and my pride, and part of the reason I didn't leave any word was because I wanted to get back at you. But mostly I was terrified that you'd find out I was alive and you wouldn't care enough to come looking for me. After what you said…" She trailed off, turning away from him and crossing her arms over her chest. "I honestly wasn't sure you'd bother."

"Tessa," he breathed, his chest aching at her words. He slid his arms around her from behind, pulling her gently back to rest against him. "Oh, darlin'. I would've come for you. I'll always come for you. I love you."

"I always loved you," she whispered, relaxing into his grip. "You have no idea how much it hurt to know I'd disappointed you, to hear you say those things."

"I'm sorry, Tess. I'm so sorry." For all that Tessa was a hell of a fighter and could be as cruel and calculating as any hardened criminal he'd ever met, she was incredibly fragile. A harsh word from someone she loved hurt her more than a hundred physical blows, and somehow in the heat of the moment, years ago, he'd forgotten that.

_Never again_, he vowed silently as he breathed in the soft scent of her perfume, her head tucked comfortably beneath his chin. Just as she knew all of his secrets, he knew all of hers. He knew how hard it had been for her to let down her guard, to let herself love him. He could only imagine how she'd felt when she thought he'd turned away from her. He was never going to hurt her again, no matter what it cost him. He was never going to _lose_ her again, ever. If he had to give up his job, his friends - even his team - he would. For Tessa, he would.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story. Last week was really rough for me, and as silly as it sounds, your reviews helped keep me going. They were a reminder that something I'm doing is being seen and appreciated, and you have my heartfelt thanks for that.

* * *

They were the best two weeks of his life.

He and Tessa were together nearly every moment. The first few days, they spent most of their time talking, trading stories about the time they'd spent apart and reminiscing about times they'd spent together. Tessa had been hesitant to let him engage in anything physically strenuous, given his injuries. Eliot had to provide several mutually pleasurable demonstrations of how much he'd recovered before she changed her mind. After that, they spent as much time making love as they did talking.

As soon as he was able, Eliot took over the cooking with Tessa's blessing. She'd never been very handy in the kitchen, and Eliot somehow managed to turn their supply of non-perishable foods into a series of gourmet meals. They took turns retrieving wood for the stove; the cabin had running water, sporadically, but no electricity save for the little generator Tessa used to charge her laptop and cell phone.

It was interesting, seeing how well Tessa had adapted to life without the amenities of a big city. Eliot had grown up on a farm that was nearly as rustic as this cabin, although it had been considerably closer to civilization. Tessa, by contrast, was originally from Manhattan, and he knew she'd never chopped wood or pumped water in her life. Their childhoods had been so similar in essence, and so different in the details…

The evenings were his favorite time. He'd sit on the couch, knife and wood block in hand, indulging in one of his favorite hobbies while Tessa sprawled out on the rug and read a book. Every few minutes he'd pause in his whittling, stopping to simply look at Tessa. He liked to watch her reading in front of the fireplace, liked the way the soft light warmed the contours of her face. When she finished a book or his eyes started to tire, they'd go to bed, and eventually to sleep.

It was the life he'd always wanted, or close enough to that life to satisfy the hollow place in his heart that he'd never believed could be filled. Like everything good in his life, then, he should have known it would end.

* * *

On the morning of the fourteenth day, he lay in the bed they shared, idly stroking Tessa's hair. She slept beside him, her back against his chest, their legs tangled intimately beneath the sheets. He thought about waking her up and decided against it, pressing a kiss to her forehead before sliding out of bed. She'd be happier about being woken up if he presented her with breakfast in bed, and he was pretty sure there were still enough ingredients left for pancakes.

He was waylaid in the dining room by a piece of paper that had been tossed onto the table. It was in Tessa's elegant cursive, and it was flight information. Information, more specifically, for a flight to Boston scheduled for that afternoon, on which one first-class seat had been reserved.

Breakfast forgotten, he stormed back into the bedroom, paper clutched in his hand.

"What is this, Tess?" he demanded, waving the paper when she blinked fuzzily up at him. "You change your mind about kicking me out? When were you going to tell me, huh?"

Tessa sighed, slipping out from under the covers, and he had to steel himself against the wave of desire he felt at the sight of her wearing a long t-shirt and nothing else. He couldn't afford to be distracted by his libido right now.

"Sophie called me last night."

For a moment he stared at her, unable to comprehend what she was saying. "Sophie?" he asked finally, frowning. "Sophie Deveraux? Why?"

"She wasn't trying to reach me," Tessa replied. "You called Ford from my cell, remember? She said your two-week time limit was up and unless you came back to Boston, your team was coming back to Russia to find you. She's the one who bought your ticket."

Eliot swore under his breath, infuriated with Sophie's high-handedness and conveniently forgetting that he had, in fact, promised to come back.

"I'll call her," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere, Tess. I'm staying here with you."

"Oh, lover." Her voice was gentle, almost pitying. "You always were a hopeless romantic."

"What's wrong with that?" He slid his hand around to the nape of her neck, pulling her in for a soul-searing kiss. "Forget Sophie and Nate and all the rest of it. We can just stay here, you and me, forever. We don't need anything else."

"You can't live on love, Eliot."

"Yes, you can. We can do this, Tess," he whispered, his lips against hers. "I can make you happy, I swear."

"You do make me happy." She closed her eyes, and his heart fell at the tears that slipped down her cheeks. "God help me, Eliot, I never thought I could be so happy."

"Then why can't we just stay?" he demanded, frustrated. "It doesn't have to be here. We can go wherever you want. How about Ireland? You liked Dublin. We can find a place, settle in, and just be together."

"How long until you're bored?" she asked. He opened his mouth to protest and she covered it with a gentle hand. "Eliot, think about what I'm saying. How long could the two of us just sit around in a house together? We both love what we do; it's a part of who we are. How long would it be before you started to resent me for keeping you away from your job? How long before I started to resent you?" Tessa shook her head. "It's very romantic, Eliot, but it's just not realistic."

"You don't want to be with me." The realization tore at his heart, but before he could start giving in to self-pity, Tessa smacked him upside the head. "Ow! Tess -"

"Don't be an idiot," she said sharply. "I never said that. I said it isn't realistic, this plan of yours for us to run away together and hide from the rest of the world forever."

"Fine," he snapped, starting to remember the downside of having two passionate people in one relationship. Their lovemaking had always been spectacular, but so were their fights. "What's your plan, then?"

"You go back to Boston, and when I'm finished here, I'll join you."

The anger drained out of him as though someone had pulled a plug.

"You'll come to the states?"

Tessa hadn't lived in the US since she first became a hunter, had even refused to visit for more than a week or so. He knew her reasons and understood why, and he couldn't believe she was willing to move back for him.

"I'll come to the states." Seeing his shock, she smiled. "I love you, Eliot. I want you to be happy. That team of yours is good for you; I won't ask you to give them up. Even if you do work for -"

"- _Nathan Ford_," he chorused along with her, and they both dissolved into laughter, hers amused and his relieved.

"When you're finished here…" Eliot looked around, taking in the little cabin. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Well, not _here_ specifically," Tessa explained. "I'm only here because of you. I'm working a long-term contract in the Ukraine."

"A job? I thought you were off the grid."

"So is the job. I got a friend to cover the contract for a while, but I'm due back soon."

He raised an eyebrow at her, but her expression stayed serene.

"I don't kill and tell," she reminded him, and he shook his head. Whatever the job was, her employer had clearly paid for privacy, and Tessa had a reputation for being discreet that she took very seriously. She wasn't going to tell him anything more than she already had, and there was a chance that even that part had been a lie.

"How much longer until you're done?" That was the only important thing, anyway. That, and the hope that it wasn't a particularly dangerous job.

"Months," Tessa admitted with a sigh. "I'm sorry, lover. I'll be as quick as I can -"

"No, don't," he interrupted, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Take as long as you need to be safe. I'll wait. I want you back in one piece."

That earned him a sunny smile, and she leaned into his embrace. "It's been a long time since I've been to Boston," she remarked idly. "I wonder if it's changed."

"You'll love it." He pulled her in close, the full length of her body pressed against his, and leaned down to touch his forehead to hers. "I promise you will, darlin'. And the team will love you - you'll like Parker best, I think, she's as crazy as they come, but you'll like them all, they're a solid group, and they do good work for people who really need -"

"You're rambling, Eliot," Tessa laughed, interrupting his impromptu monologue.

"Yeah." He stopped, heaving a sigh. "Sorry."

"Don't be nervous," she instructed him, tilting her head up to kiss him. "It'll be fine."

"And we'll be together."

"We'll be together," she agreed with a wicked grin. Of all the things he'd missed about her, that grin was at the top of the list. "Boston won't know what hit it."


	7. Chapter 7

Parker bounced on her toes, watching impatiently as people strode past her.

"Where is he?" she demanded for the twentieth time. Sophie sighed gustily, resisting the urge to grab Parker's shoulders and hold her still.

"His flight only arrived a few minutes ago," Nate replied from behind them. "He's probably on his way in from the terminal."

Parker continued to bounce, holding the brightly decorated piece of posterboard she'd brought from Nate's. She'd insisted on making a 'welcome home' poster for Eliot. Hardison had told her it was a great idea, mostly because he liked to make her happy, and Sophie and Nate hadn't argued because it was far wiser to pick their battles where Parker was concerned. Hence the poster, which Parker had spent yesterday afternoon making. She was inordinately proud of it, despite Nate's irritation at the craft glitter she'd used that had somehow worked its way into every crack and crevice in his hardwood floor.

"There he is," Hardison said suddenly, pointing off to the right as he spotted long hair and a surly expression. Parker squealed with glee and ran toward Eliot, dodging other passengers and family members to launch herself at the hitter.

* * *

Eliot scanned the milling crowd for Sophie but spotted a familiar blonde head first. He saw the thief coming in time to drop his duffel bag and extend his arms, grunting a little at the impact as she flung herself squarely at his chest.

"_Ow_, Parker," he protested, more for form's sake than because she'd actually hurt him. She laughed and released him, taking a step back so that he could see the poster she held.

"I made this for you," she explained - unnecessarily, since it had his name written in big sparkly letters. He studied the poster for a moment, feeling a twinge of guilt. He'd come so close to not coming back…

"Eliot!"

The others had caught up to Parker. The ensuing round of hugs that he only halfheartedly tried to dodge gave him time to pull himself together. Whatever he'd considered, he was back now, and what Parker and the others didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

They headed for the parking garage, Nate taking Eliot's bag and ignoring the hitter's glare.

"I can carry it, Nate."

"I know." Nate's response was matter-of-fact, but he didn't return the bag. Eliot rolled his eyes and dropped the subject. His back was still sore, and if Nate wanted to carry the duffel, he could have it. It was mostly just random stuff from the cabin that Tessa had thrown into the bag to allay suspicion, since a passenger on an intercontinental flight without any baggage might have raised red flags with the airline.

_He shouldered the duffel bag, ignoring the twinge of pain in his back. Tessa watched him silently, and he wondered if she was regretting the offer she'd made. He couldn't resist the urge to pull her into his arms one more time. _

"Eliot?"

He shook off the memory and looked over to find Sophie frowning at him.

"I'm fine," he said, answering the unasked question, and she shook her head but said nothing further. He knew her too well to think she'd let it go, but with any luck she'd wait to interrogate him until they were alone. He didn't particularly want the whole team passing judgment on his love life.

Sophie was still staring at him. He deliberately stepped around Hardison, putting the hacker between them. That left him walking beside Parker, who was still holding the glittery poster she'd made.

"Thanks, Parker," he said softly, slinging an arm around her slender shoulders. She looked up at him, startled; with good reason, since Eliot rarely initiated physical contact with any of them.

"For what?" she asked, momentarily off balance, and he tapped lightly on the poster.

"For that. Nobody ever made me anything like that before."

"I knew you'd like it!" Parker beamed at him, giving the poster a triumphant shake.

"When Sophie said you were coming home, I wanted to do something nice for you. Hardison said I shouldn't steal you anything, so I made you something instead."

The combination of affection and guilt her words evoked was just barely enough to keep him from complaining as a handful of silver glitter escaped the poster and dusted his clothes with sparkles. Just barely.

* * *

Over the next few months, they started to become accustomed to Eliot's moodiness. He was spending most of his off time in bars, which wouldn't have been a problem if he wasn't so prone to getting into fights. After the third time he showed up to Nate's for a briefing sporting bruises and trying to hide a limp, Sophie put her foot down and insisted that one of them escort him when he went out drinking. That triggered the meltdown Nate had known was coming, but in the end Sophie had somehow prevailed. Which was why Nate was now sitting on a barstool in a seedy Codman Square bar, nursing a tonic water and trying not to fidget.

Eliot sat next to him, one hand wrapped around a beer and the other propping up his head. Nate had never actually seen the hitter drunk, but Eliot had skirted the line a time or two. It looked like he was planning another close call tonight, and Nate devoutly wished Eliot had been content to drink in the safety of their downstairs bar.

_"Come with me, Tess," Eliot whispered again, pressing his forehead to hers as his hands slid across her back. "Just leave it all behind and come."_

_She smiled weakly. "You shouldn't have taught me so much about responsibility," she told him, giving him a gentle kiss before pulling away. "I have to stay."_

_"When you're done here -"_

_"I'll be on the next plane out," she promised. "You'll just glance up one day and I'll be waving at you from across the bar."_

_"Which bar?"_

_She chuckled, running a fond hand through his hair. "Lover, wherever you go, you always manage to find a bar. I find the bar, I'll find you."_

_He started to argue the point, but then he remembered the bar in Croatia. And Minsk. And Plovdiv. Targoviste. Alois. _

_"I'll buy you a drink," he said, tacitly conceding the point -_

"Eliot?"

He turned his head to fix Nate with an irritated glare.

"Can't you people ever babysit me silently?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt your intense contemplation of that beer," Nate continued, ignoring the other man's sarcasm, "but you were going to be interrupted in the next few minutes regardless."

Eliot raised an eyebrow and Nate gestured subtly toward the door, where three men had just entered and were striding toward the group of hard-eyed mobsters in the corner. Two of them had the visible outlines of handguns under their shirts.

"Hell," Eliot muttered, resisting the urge to ball his hands into fists and jump into the fray. One of the conditions of the deal he'd made with Sophie was that he wouldn't involve any of the others in a situation where they could get hurt. He was pretty sure this qualified. "Let's go."

With the other patrons' attention on the unfolding drama, Nate and Eliot were able to slip unnoticed out the back door. Nate slid into the driver's seat of Eliot's truck - he'd drawn the line at parking his sports car in this neighborhood - waited for the hitter to climb in the other side, and headed gratefully for home.

* * *

Nate had expected Eliot to disappear up the stairs as soon as they arrived. He hadn't expected him to head the other way, descending into the bar downstairs without a backward glance. Even the sight of the others seated around one of the bar's little tables didn't slow him down; he ordered another beer and dropped into the chair next to Parker's.

"Rough night?" Sophie asked sympathetically. Eliot growled under his breath in response, scaring the waitress and eliciting a chuckle from Hardison. He started to stand, fed up with the whole world, but he stopped when Parker's small hand grabbed his.

"Stay, Eliot," she entreated him. "We'll be quiet, I promise."

It would have taken a harder heart than Eliot's to resist the wheedling tone in Parker's voice. He sank back down into his chair, taking a swig of beer as Sophie and Nate exchanged one of their meaningful looks. Parker's promise aside, he knew this team, and the over-under on their ability to stay quiet was about five minutes.

Hardison was the one who broke the streak, coming in at just under four and a half minutes.

"Hey, Eliot, that woman at the bar is totally checking you out."

Eliot didn't look up from his drink, but Hardison still got the sense that the other man was glaring at him.

"Not tonight," was all he said, his tone flat. Hardison flinched as something pointy hit his shin: the toe of Sophie's high-heeled shoe, if her quelling look was anything to judge by.

"Ow!" he protested, leaning down to rub his leg as he glared at her. "You're developing an anger management problem, you know that? Kicking people is not the way to resolve your issues. I'm just saying. And anyway, she's not really Eliot's type."

"How do you know his type?" Parker asked, intrigued. Hardison snorted.

"Come on, girl, we all know his type. Long blond hair, sexy outfit, big…" He trailed off as Sophie and Parker both stared at him, Parker's expression curious and Sophie's irritated. "Big…hair. You know, big hair." He gestured vaguely. "It's a Southern thing."

Now Parker looked mystified and Sophie was rolling her eyes. Nate was smirking in amusement. Eliot still seemed to be ignoring the entire exchange. At least no one had kicked him this time.

"The girl at the bar doesn't have big hair," Parker observed, looking to Hardison for agreement, and he chuckled.

"You got that right," he told her. "And she sure doesn't look like one of Eliot's stripper friends. She looks more like a kindergarten teacher."

Oddly enough, that got Eliot's attention where nothing else had. He set down his drink for the first time that evening and twisted around in his seat, looking over his shoulder to see the woman at the bar. The rest of the team watched as she raised a hand, twiddling her fingers in a casual wave, and they were all equally shocked when Eliot swore, leapt out of his chair, and shot across the room.


	8. Chapter 8

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Sarah Sullivan, who'd been watching him from across the bar, raised her glass to him in an ironic salute.

"Good to see you too, Eliot," she told him, and winced as he caught her wrist in an iron grip. "That's not very polite -"

"Where's Tessa?"

Sarah frowned. "That's what I was going to ask you." She took advantage of his momentary confusion to yank her arm away from him, rolling her eyes at the finger-shaped bruises already forming on her pale skin. "You're still the same violent son of a bitch you always were, Spencer."

"If you don't know where Tessa is," Eliot said through gritted teeth, "then let me repeat my original question. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Maybe I'm on vacation, Eliot. Ever think of that?" She took a lazy sip of her drink, leaning back against the bar. "Or maybe I'm on the prowl, looking for a new place to play. Boston has some very nice jewelry stores -"

"Boston's taken."

His tone brooked no argument, and Sarah widened her eyes in a parody of an innocent expression. "Taken? Is that really the infamous Parker over there, then? I mean, I've seen pictures, but I've never actually met her. I have to admit, I expected her to be taller. Are you working as her enforcer or something?"

"Is there a problem over here?"

Eliot resisted the urge to sigh as Sarah's jaw dropped.

"_Ford_?"

"Sullivan." Nate didn't sound pleased. "Kill any museum security guards lately?"

"Oh, come on, Ford. This is America. I'm innocent until proven guilty, remember?"

Nate was clearly unmoved. Sarah rolled her eyes again, shoving herself off the barstool.

"I don't know what kind of weirdness you people are up to in Boston, and I don't really care. My flight leaves in two hours. I just wanted to drop something off for Tessa. Celia said she was headed to the US, and when I found out you were in Boston, I figured she'd be coming here." A predatory smile slipped across her face. "Guess not. Tough luck, Spencer. She must've found a new boy-toy to take your place."

Eliot snarled, grabbing for Sarah's throat, but Nate's interference coupled with the thief's lightning reflexes kept him from actually catching her.

"Better luck next time," she taunted as she headed for the door. Looking back to watch Nate restrain Eliot, she didn't see Sophie until she tripped over the grifter's outstretched foot. "Hey!"

"Sarah. Long time, no see."

"Not long enough," Sarah snapped, struggling to her feet. "Stay out of my way, Deveraux. I still owe you for the job you ruined in Tuscany."

Sophie smiled serenely, and the thief muttered something unintelligible as she stomped out of the bar.

"So that's Sarah Sullivan?" Parker wrinkled her nose. "I'm not impressed."

Nate and Eliot had rejoined them in time to hear Parker's comment.

"She's not as good a thief as you are, but she's got you beat by a mile when it comes to bein' unpleasant," Eliot told her, his hands still clenched into fists.

"If she was anywhere near as good as I am, she would've noticed me taking this out of her pocket," Parker replied, holding up a small gift-wrapped box. Nate choked on a laugh, but Eliot merely shook his head.

"You took it when Sophie tripped her?"

"Misdirection," Parker agreed with an impish grin, handing the box to Eliot. "What's in it?"

"Knowing Sullivan?" Nate asked, eyeing the box. "Probably a bomb."

"She's not stupid enough to give Tessa a bomb," Eliot disagreed, hefting the box in one hand. "Probably jewelry - payback for saving her ass in Russia. Sarah hates owing anyone anything."

He hesitated at the confusion on Nate's face, and realized suddenly that the alcohol combined with his preoccupation about Tessa had led him to say more than he'd intended.

"Who's Tessa?" Nate asked, puzzled. Eliot opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure of what he should say.

"She's an old friend of Eliot's," Sophie supplied, and Nate raised an eyebrow at her.

"You know her?"

"I don't," Sophie replied, giving Nate a meaningful look. "But she's an old friend of his like you're an old friend of mine."

"Ah." Nate, the mastermind of the group, immediately started to put the pieces together. "And this old friend of yours saved Sullivan from something in Russia. Wasn't Sullivan on the list of people being auctioned off by Cortez?" He paused for a moment, studying Eliot's expression. "When you didn't come home after the auction, you were with Tessa?"

Eliot didn't answer, but Nate didn't need him to.

Parker, less interested in their conversation than in the brightly wrapped box, reached out to poke at it.

"Are you going to open this?"

Eliot pulled it away, exasperated.

"_No_, I'm not gonna open it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not for me."

Parker pouted. Eliot ignored her.

"So, is this woman the Sophie to your Nate or the Nate to your Sophie?" Hardison asked, with a grin that slipped away when Eliot and Sophie both turned to glare at him. He raised both hands in a cautioning gesture. "Hey, take it easy, guys. Inquiring minds just want to know."

"I'll inquire you -"

Nate stepped between them, effectively ending the argument.

"I think we've all had enough for now, hmm? Eliot, why don't you call it a night?"

Eliot glowered at Hardison for another few seconds and then stormed off, heading up the stairs. Hardison started for the door and Nate caught him by the collar.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"That's like a trick question, right?" Hardison asked, resigned. His Battlestar Galactica marathon was going to have to wait.

"My place. Now." He looked up to find Sophie watching avidly and Parker trying to sneak away. "That means everyone, Parker."

"Eliot doesn't have to go," Parker whined, and Sophie patted her shoulder.

"That's because we're going to talk about him," Sophie murmured to her. "It wouldn't be polite to talk about him if he was there."

Parker thought about that. "Plus, he'd probably get mad."

"That is a consideration, yes."

* * *

After twenty minutes of frantic research on Hardison's part and twenty minutes of complaining on Parker's, their impromptu briefing was ready. At Nate's cue, Hardison pulled up the first photo, and they all took the opportunity to study the picture of Eliot's old flame.

She was copper-haired and slender, dressed casually in jeans and a black peacoat with a strand of pearls peeking out from beneath the collar. If Sarah Sullivan looked like a teacher, Tessa looked like one of the wealthy young mothers whose children went to the private school down the street from Sophie's apartment.

"Not what I was expecting," Sophie murmured to no one in particular.

"You and me both," Hardison informed her, and Parker frowned.

"She doesn't have big hair either," she pointed out. "If she's Eliot's Sophie - or Nate, or whatever, which is kind of weird, by the way - then Hardison was wrong about Eliot's type."

"Tessa Quinn," Hardison began, ignoring the comment. "Along with about a hundred other aliases, but that's the name she seems to use the most. There's no record of her before 1997, when she showed up in Tokyo. She was suspected in the death of Hisao Ishikama, one of the leaders of the Yakuza, but nothing was ever proven. It was eventually ruled a suicide by Tokyo police."

"Did she kill him?" That was Parker, who sounded more interested than concerned.

"She never took public credit for it, but his death started a trend; his was only the first suspicious death where she turned up on the periphery. Over the next few years, she developed quite a reputation for being the person to go to if you needed someone out of the way and wanted it to look like something other than an intentional killing."

"She's an assassin?" Sophie's voice definitely held the concerned note that Parker's had lacked.

"All the references I could find called her a 'hunter'," he replied, pulling up several more pictures, "which I'm assuming is the PC term. Whatever else she was doing, though, starting in 2000 she was spotted multiple places in the company of this guy."

A photo of Eliot and Tessa together at what looked like a Halloween party popped up on the screen. Eliot was all in black; his hair was shorter, his ears were pierced, and he looked both younger and angrier than the Eliot they knew. Tessa, who couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty, wore a simple white dress with gossamer wings attached to the back. Even in the picture, her smile held a dangerous edge.

"In 2002 she did a job in Brazil - death of a big-time drug lord, ruled accidental - and got hooked up with this girl, Celia Almeida, a weapons and explosives specialist. They did a lot of jobs together after that, until early in 2006 when Tessa went to work for this guy."

"Leontinev," Sophie and Nate chorused, giving each other startled looks. "You knew him?"

Nate stopped, gesturing for Sophie to speak first.

"Russian crime syndicate leader," she said, wrinkling her nose. "He came in a few years after Putin replaced Yeltsin. He reorganized the black market, changed the protection rackets around. It seemed like he was doing good things for them, and he threw really _stellar_ parties, but…"

"But?"

"It turned out he'd been funneling Russian orphans into child brothels on the side. Half the syndicate was up in arms over that - I mean, even most mobsters take a dim view of child prostitution - and the other half was calling for his head because he kept all of the profit for himself."

"And in October of 2006, right after the truth came out, he was killed in an explosion that took out a warehouse in Strasbourg where three Picassos were being stored," Nate added. "Losing the Picassos cost IYS millions."

"Right," Hardison agreed, flipping to the next slide. "Video footage from the warehouse showed Tessa and Leontinev were both inside when it blew. It was apparently common knowledge that Tessa was royally pissed off about the brothels - he never told her about his little side business - and the prevailing theory was that one of them set up the explosion to kill the other and didn't get out in time. Everyone assumed they were both dead. The interesting thing is that over the next three years, every singe one of Leontinev's people who were suspected of being involved with the brothels turned up dead - and they were all ruled accidental deaths."

"You think Tessa killed them?"

In response, Hardison pulled up the next image: a graph of Eastern Europe.

"All we know about Tessa's whereabouts for those three years are that she was in Strasbourg in October of 06 and she was in or around Moscow three months ago. Now, here are where each of the dead guys were found, and here are all of the places where either Celia Almeida or Sarah Sullivan - both known associates of hers - were spotted during those three years."

"I doubt Sullivan would be involved," Nate said as he analyzed the map. "She's too self-absorbed to go after anyone who hasn't personally offended her. Celia Almeida, though…how many of those deaths were related to, oh, leaky gas lines or faulty wiring or some other explosive cause?"

"Four of the nine. And the other five all died while engaged in one of their usual hobbies - drowning while swimming, pesticide poisoning while gardening, and so on."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because it was Tessa Quinn's favorite MO."

Nate leaned back in the armchair, contemplating everything Hardison had presented.

"Can you access a list of people known or suspected to be involved with child brothels in Eastern Europe around the beginning of 2007?" he asked finally. Hardison frowned, pulling up a new window.

"Let's see…if I cross-reference syndicate databases with local law enforcement records…"

A few more taps at his keyboard displayed the list Nate had requested. It was dishearteningly long. From their experience in Serbia, they knew firsthand how many mistreated orphans there still were in Eastern Europe, but seeing how many people had been making a profit from child prostitution was still a heavy blow.

"Now check that against the current list."

That took a few more minutes. Hardison placed the lists side by side and stared in shock at the comparison. The first list was nearly six times longer than the second one.

"I'll bet that if you went looking for the missing names, you'd find them in the local morgue records."

"Damn." Hardison dropped down onto the couch next to Parker, who shifted over to give him more room. "I guess we know what she was doing for those three years."

"We could have just asked Eliot," Parker pointed out, but Sophie shook her head.

"He didn't know."

"What do you mean?" Nate asked. "And why is it that you knew about this woman and none of us did?"

"I promised Eliot I wouldn't say anything. That was part of the deal I made with him."

"The deal?"

"You know, letting us keep an eye on him. He said he'd go along with it and stay out of trouble as long as I kept my mouth shut." Sophie folded her arms across her chest, staring at the screen that still displayed the lists of names. "I suppose the cat's out of the bag now, anyway. He didn't know she was still alive until she rescued him from Julovich."

"They were together for six years and she didn't tell him she survived the explosion?" Hardison whistled. "That's cold."

"I don't know the details. I do know that she's planning to come here, though, once she's finished with her current job. She offered to move here so they could be together without him having to leave the team."

Nate's expression turned thoughtful again, and Sophie knew Tessa had just gone up in his estimation. Hardison didn't seem as enthusiastic about the idea.

"Whoa, hold up. She's coming here?"

"What's wrong with that?" Parker sounded confused.

"What's wrong with Eliot's assassin ex-girlfriend coming to Boston? Uh, I have some concerns."

"Why?'

"How about because she's a _killer_, Parker," Hardison said in disbelief. "She kills people for a living! That doesn't worry you?"

"Eliot agreed to her coming here." Parker's voice was slow and careful, as though she was explaining something to a small child. "He wouldn't have done that if he thought she was going to kill us."

"I think he's partly concerned because she's killed so _many_ people, Parker," Sophie offered, and Parker turned that disbelieving expression on her.

"You aren't afraid of Eliot, and he's probably killed way more people than she has."

Parker said it in a matter-of-fact tone that surprised the rest of the team. Noticing their reactions, she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, come on. He said it himself: he hurts people for a living. At least all she does is kill them. She doesn't even torture them first."

"Not unless I'm trying to make a point," agreed an amused voice from the doorway. Nate was somehow unsurprised to look up and find Tessa Quinn standing in his foyer, hands tucked into the pockets of her overcoat.

"Ms. Quinn," he greeted her, rising smoothly to his feet as the rest of the team struggled to regain their composure. She took his outstretched hand in a firm shake, meeting his gaze with laughter sparkling in her eyes.

"Nathan Ford." Tessa smiled, the same wicked grin he'd seen in the picture. "We meet at last."


	9. Chapter 9

The introductions only took a few moments, since Tessa knew all of them by reputation if not by sight and they'd all just sat through a presentation on her. As Nate took her coat and hung it on the rack by the door, she glanced around approvingly at the apartment. The portrait of 'Old Nate' was just as strange as Eliot had said it was, but otherwise the place was beautifully appointed.

"Where's Eliot?" Parker asked from the couch, looking around as though Tessa might have him hidden behind her.

"Upstairs, asleep," Tessa replied, taking a seat in the armchair that Sophie gestured to.

"He didn't want to come down?" Sophie asked, and Tessa gave her a thin smile.

"He doesn't know I'm here."

There was a moment of silence as they all assimilated that.

"I don't think he'll like this," Parker offered finally.

"I know he won't," Tessa agreed, "but there's no way around it. He's too sentimental to be here for this."

"Sentimental," Hardison repeated, as though he'd never head the word before. "Are we talking about the same Eliot Spencer? Long hair, kinda angry, likes to hit stuff?"

Nate picked up on the part of her statement that Hardison apparently missed in his disbelief.

"To be here for what, Ms. Quinn?"

She waved a dismissive hand. "Tessa, please. And you know as well as I do why I'm here, Nate - may I call you Nate?"

He inclined his head, ignored the curious looks of his teammates. "To set some ground rules."

"If I'm going to be living in Boston, I need to be able to coexist peacefully with your team."

Nate gestured for her to continue. Tessa leaned forward, ticking off the rules on her elegant fingers as she spoke.

"Boston's your city; I won't work here. I won't interfere with any of your jobs and you'll stay out of mine. If you run into any problems where you could use my help and I'm available, I'll be happy to lend a hand as a show of good faith. In return, I'd prefer it if you didn't publicize the fact that I'm in town. Enough people already know where I am; there's no point in shouting it from the rooftops." She sounded exasperated at that, and Nate wondered if she already knew that Sullivan had turned up here earlier tonight. "If it's feasible, I'll let you know where and when I'll be working to avoid any conflicts. If we do end up with jobs that happen to cross paths, I'm open to discussing mutually satisfactory resolution on a case by case basis. If we end up on opposite sides…" She gave him another sharp-edged grin. "Let's just hope we don't."

"Hmm," Nate murmured, leaning back in his chair. "Well, if you're planning to stick to the kinds of jobs you've been doing in Russia, I don't think we'll have any problems with conflicting interests."

Her smile widened, and although it still held a predatory element, it was mingled with respect.

"Keeping tabs on me?" It was a rhetorical question; she knew the answer as well as they did. "I've found it to be a very rewarding niche market. I won't make any promises that I'll keep to those jobs exclusively, but I don't have any plans to expand at the moment."

"I think we can agree to those terms, then. We won't spread it around that you're here, and we'll let you know where and when we'll be working if it's possible." He glanced over at the couch then, Parker's madly waving hand catching his attention. "Parker?"

"I don't agree." She put her arm down and turned toward Tessa. "If you're going to be hunting child molesters, you should be allowed to do it in Boston too."

Tessa contemplated her for a moment, then extended her hand to Parker, who offered hers cautiously in return. Tessa took the blonde's hand in both of hers, giving it a warm squeeze.

"Eliot told me I'd like you best."

Parker grinned broadly, bouncing a little in her seat.

"Can she, Nate?" the thief pleaded, like a child begging for permission to have a friend stay the night. "Please?"

Nate glanced at Sophie, who nodded guardedly, and Hardison, who shrugged.

"If you're going to do anything in Boston, regardless of what kind of job it is, you'll need to be very discreet," Nate told Tessa, who barely refrained from rolling her eyes.

"Don't teach your grandmother to suck eggs, Nate," Tessa advised, a smile tugging at her lips. "I'll run any jobs in Boston by you before I start them. Fair?"

"Fair."

They shook on it and Tessa stood, stretching her arms over her head.

"Tired?" Nate asked, and she smiled wearily.

"Long flight," she explained. "It was nice to meet all of you. If you don't mind, I'll just…" She pointed upstairs and Nate nodded.

"Have a nice night," he offered. Hardison snorted.

"Good luck explaining this to Eliot," the hacker advised. Tessa threw her head back and laughed.

"I'm not worried," she told him, slipping her coat on again. "I can take him."

* * *

Eliot woke to the ringing of his cell phone. He fumbled around on the nightstand, coming up with the phone.

"What?" he demanded groggily.

"Come let me in."

He shook off the remnants of sleepiness, sitting up in bed. "Tess? Where are you?"

"Your front door. I can just break in if you'd rather, but knowing you, there's probably a chain lock -"

That was as far as she got before she heard the sound of the chain being released, followed by the click of a deadbolt, and then she was standing face to face with Eliot.

"Hello, lover," she said, a grin tugging at her lips. "Nice outfit."

Eliot, clad only in gray boxer briefs, ignored the comment in favor of pulling her into his apartment, backing her up against the nearest wall, and pressing his mouth against hers in a searing kiss. She moaned, running her hands across his well-muscled chest and drawing a growl from his throat as her fingers brushed a sensitive spot.

"Happy to see me?"

"You have no idea."


	10. Chapter 10

There was no official plan, but Parker, Hardison, and Sophie all found themselves at Nate's for breakfast the next day. They waited for Eliot for nearly an hour before Hardison finally gave up and went down the street for bagels and coffee. As the morning stretched into afternoon, they continued to hang around at Nate's. Occasionally, someone would mention going up to Eliot's to see if he was coming down, but no one ever made it as far as Nate's front door. The known threat of what Eliot would do to an unexpected visitor, mixed with the unknown but probably deadlier threat of what Tessa would do, kept all of them in Nate's living room, hanging around and waiting for Eliot and Tessa to show up on their own.

It was nearly two o'clock when the prodigal couple finally arrived. Nate and Hardison were playing cards, a large pile of poker chips in front of Nate and a significantly smaller pile in front of an irritated Hardison. Sophie was watching a fashion show on Nate's TV and trying fruitlessly to explain to Parker why the designers were making outfits out of stuff they'd found on a construction site.

"It's entertainment, Parker! No one's actually going to wear something like that out on the street."

Parker was staring contemplatively at the bright orange traffic-cone bra one of the models was wearing.

"On the street, it might screw up traffic patterns," Parker agreed, sounding thoughtful. "I wonder if we could use that somehow."

"No one on this team is going out in public wearing traffic cones as an undergarment," Nate put in from across the room, and Hardison swore as Nate showed that he was holding another royal flush.

"In order to be an undergarment, wouldn't it have to be under something?" Parker countered, still intent on the TV screen. "And it does make her boobs look really big. Maybe if Sophie -"

"Oh, you can't pin that on me! I wasn't even in Serbia when the Coalition killed Radan!"

Parker finally looked away from the TV as Tessa entered the room, her voice sharp as she argued with Eliot.

"Since when do you have to be in the country to carry out a hit?" Eliot stormed into Nate's apartment on Tessa's heels, the rest of the team coming to a standstill to watch the erupting battle. "He was a genocidal maniac who poisoned the water supply of a whole town. He killed fifteen hundred people, and three weeks later he was dead of that same poison, which a certain _someone_ planted in his prized bottle of 1945 Chateau Mouton-Rothschild Jeroboam. You might as well have signed your name on his death certificate!"

Tessa put her hands on her hips, meeting his gaze evenly.

"Eliot. Would I do something like that to a hundred thousand dollar bottle of wine?"

"Not if you thought there was any chance he was going to offer you a glass."

She raised her eyebrows at him, but the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth gave her away. Eliot pointed wordlessly at her, waggling his finger, and there was a moment of tense silence before Tessa laughed.

"All right, all right. I'll claim Radan." She slid onto one of the barstools at Nate's kitchen counter, then added thoughtfully, "Of course, if he hadn't been such a selfish bastard, I would've at least let him enjoy the wine before I killed him."

"Excuse me," Nate said finally, seeing the opening and taking it. "I don't mean to interrupt, but what are you doing, exactly?"

"Tallying."

Parker looked at Hardison, who looked at Sophie, who looked at Nate, who shrugged. Eliot watched the silent exchange and shook his head.

"All assassins -"

"Hunters," Tessa interrupted dryly, and Eliot rolled his eyes.

"All _hunters_ keep a kill count, a record of all the jobs they've done. Works like a résumé."

"It's also fun at black ops parties," Tessa added. "Have a few drinks at the bar, compare your list to the list of the guy next to you. You just hope you're not recounting the story of killing someone he worked with…" She frowned, glancing over at Eliot. "That seems to happen a lot, actually."

"It's a small world," Eliot replied with a shrug as he slid a bottle of water across the bar to Tessa and opened a beer for himself. "That's why I don't go to the parties."

"You don't go to the parties because you're an antisocial killjoy who was so desperate to get out of Jinx's Christmas party -"

"Oh, you're going to start in on that again, huh? Like you didn't bitch at me for _six months_ after I missed that -"

"- _so desperate_ that you signed on for a gunrunning job in Sierra Leone for a third of your usual price just to have an excuse not to come, and then your operation got busted and I had to go all the way -"

"Here we go," Eliot muttered, taking a long swig of his beer.

" - to the ass-end of West Africa to _excavate_ you out of a collapsed mine shaft!"

"You want to talk about crappy rescues? How about that time in Croatia when your target caught you in his attic? Do you know how long it took me to talk my client out of having me killed because I missed his deadline saving your ass? You don't have -"

"This is sweet," Sophie declared, interrupting their heated argument as she walked over to the bar. She settled on the barstool next to Tessa's, propping her chin on her hand. "Really, it is. It's like the mating dance of some loud, violent species of bird."

"Not enough feathers," Parker opined, wrinkling her nose. "Are you going to make lunch, Eliot? I'm hungry."

"Me too," Tessa agreed solemnly. "And I seem to recall someone promising me one of his world-famous four-cheese omelets in exchange for me getting out of bed."

Hardison chuckled. "Man, aren't you supposed to be bribing women _into _bed, not out of it?"

Tessa held up the water bottle Eliot had handed her, giving Hardison a slow smile.

"Just taking a little break. Have to stay hydrated when you're exercising, you know; eat some protein to keep up your strength." She paused at his expression. "Are you actually blushing?"

Sophie glanced at Eliot, expecting some sort of irritated response from the hitter, and was surprised to see a smile on his face as he cracked an egg into the frying pan.

"Tessa Quinn," Nate said, changing the subject as he came to stand next to Sophie at the counter. "Any relation to a hitter named Quinn? Eliot had a little run-in with him in LA a while back."

"Mmm, no," Tessa replied, swallowing a mouthful of water before replying. "No relation. But I did send a very nice wreath to his funeral."

"Quinn's dead." Nate gave Tessa a penetrating look. On the other side of the counter, Eliot had gone still and was staring at Tessa. "How did he die?"

Tessa raised her eyebrows at him. "Why ask me? You already answered your own question."

"What, because he fought me?" Eliot demanded. "I gave him a beating, Tess, but I didn't kill him."

She turned to look at him, giving him the kind of patient smile a teacher might give to a particularly slow student.

"Every hitter in the business knows better than to take a job against Eliot Spencer. Quinn seemed to have missed the memo, so I made sure someone sent him a copy."

Eliot set down the whisk he was holding, leaning deliberately across the counter to put his face directly in front of Tessa's. "You had Quinn killed because he took a job against me?"

Tessa reached out, tapping her index finger lightly against the tip of Eliot's nose.

"Just because I wasn't around doesn't mean I wasn't keeping an eye on you."

Eliot caught her hand before she could pull away, and in a move that surprised everyone but Tessa, pulled it to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

"I missed you, darlin'."

Tessa smiled, serene. Sophie looked over at Nate and, seeing the calculating look on his face, decided that the two of them needed to talk about this later. Eliot's attitude was so different when Tessa was around; she wasn't sure what sort of effect that was going to have on the team. Certainly Parker and Hardison were both staring at the hitter like he'd just announced he was quitting the team to join a touring ballet performance of The Nutcracker.

Eliot swore suddenly, and Sophie snapped back to reality just in time to realize the omelets were burning. Tessa chuckled as Eliot grabbed for the spatula, rescuing the eggs from an ignoble death.

Without having to ask, Eliot had remembered everyone's favorite egg dishes - plain scrambled eggs for Nate, a vegetable omelet for Sophie, sunny-side up for Parker, scrambled with cheese for Hardison, the aforementioned four-cheese omelet for Tessa, and poached for himself. Once everyone had their belated lunch in front of them, Sophie raised her glass of orange juice in one hand.

"To old friends," she proposed, glancing sidelong at Nate. He gave her a dry smile but copied her movement, raising his own glass.

"Hear, hear."

One by one, the others clinked their glasses together, then dug in.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: So this story has been on hiatus forever, but I finally figured out where I want it to go next. Leverage doesn't belong to me. Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

_Three Months Later_

* * *

It was a quiet night at the offices of Leverage Consulting and Associates, version 2.0, otherwise known as Nate's apartment. Hardison sat alone in the living room, drinking an orange soda and flipping channels on the TV. Nate was upstairs, presumably asleep. All of the others had left hours ago, but Hardison had stuck around. Initially, it had been to finish compiling the surveillance data for their latest job, but once he'd finished he hadn't been able to work up the momentum to get up off the couch and go home. It wouldn't be the first time one of them had crashed on Nate's couch; they'd all slept there on occasion. It was actually pretty comfortable.

He paused for a moment on the local news, his eye caught by the 'breaking news' alert, and he turned the volume up a little.

"- fourth shooting in Quincy in as many days. The police have no leads as to the shooter's identity and are asking anyone with any information to call -"

He resumed his channel surfing, settling on a rerun of _Buffy _as his thoughts turned to Tessa. Any mention of murders or suspicious deaths made him think of her nowadays.

Despite his initial reservations about her presence in Boston, Tessa hadn't made any trouble for the team. She didn't spend much time with them when she was in town, and she wasn't in town that often. In the last three months, she'd worked at least a dozen jobs, all of them outside Massachusetts. She'd been gone more than she'd been here, and Hardison actually noticed her more in her absence than anything else. When she was gone, Eliot was more irritable, less likely to tolerate the petty day-to-day conflicts with his teammates that inevitably arose. Tessa had been gone for two weeks this time, and this morning Eliot had nearly taken his head off for eating the strawberries in Nate's fridge. It wasn't like he'd known that Eliot was planning to make a strawberry shortcake with them. He hadn't even known Eliot baked. He cooked, sure, but baking was more of a girl thing.

At least he'd been smart enough not to say _that_ to Eliot. He liked his nose just the way it was. He didn't want to give Eliot an excuse to flatten it.

* * *

Hardison had fallen asleep three episodes into what was apparently a _Buffy _marathon. He woke up with the sun shining in through Nate's window and the delicious smell of homemade pancakes invading his nostrils. Eliot hadn't made pancakes in weeks.

In two weeks, specifically.

He was unsurprised to find Tessa sitting at the kitchen counter, watching Eliot as he flipped the pancakes in the pan with an expert jerk of his wrist.

"Morning, guys," he said, earning a grunt from Eliot and a wordless wave from Tessa, whose mouth was full of pancake. "Yo, Eliot, hook a brother up with some pancakes."

"I'm not your brother," Eliot muttered, but he was already putting a fresh batch onto a plate. He shoved it at Hardison, who contemplated needling him for his crankiness but vetoed that idea in favor of enjoying his pancakes without tempting Eliot to take them away from him. Eliot's triple-berry buttermilk pancakes were the stuff of legends, and he wasn't going to risk losing his share just because Tessa's return hadn't cured Eliot's bad attitude this time.

"Did you have a nice trip?" he said instead, directing the question to Tessa, who had washed down her mouthful with a long swig of coffee. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.

"Delightful," she replied, her tone dry. She didn't elaborate, which was probably for the best. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what she'd been up to.

There was a rustling from upstairs; Nate, who must have caught the scent of pancakes and coffee. Tessa turned her head to look for the source of the noise and Hardison saw the bruises on the side of her face. Suddenly, Eliot's crankiness made sense.

"You want some more?" Eliot asked, interrupting Hardison's train of thought, and although he wasn't even halfway through his first serving, he didn't hesitate.

"Yeah, man, absolutely."

Eliot's glare could have withered an entire forest.

"I wasn't. Talking. To you."

Tessa's gaze flicked from Eliot to Hardison, who caught her eye and mouthed 'ouch', miming pulling a knife from his heart. She laughed at his antics and nearly choked on her coffee, which earned Hardison another glare from Eliot.

"Tess?" Eliot prompted, and she shook her head, setting down her coffee cup. Her wrist was bandaged, Hardison noticed belatedly, and he wondered what other injuries she was concealing.

"Nah. I need to get some sleep. I'm going to head upstairs." She slid off of the barstool, favoring her left leg, and brushed a kiss against Eliot's cheek as she passed him.

Hardison saw the indecision on the hitter's face and was pretty sure he knew the cause. Usually, when Tessa returned from a job, Eliot disappeared for a day or so. None of them ever asked where he went because it was obvious that he was spending the day with her. This time she'd come back hurt, so the protective streak that Eliot tried so hard to hide had to be working overtime, but the team was supposed to be meeting in fifteen minutes to work out the game plan for their current mission. He couldn't just disappear upstairs with her right now.

"Y'know, the couch is really comfortable," Hardison said, before he'd realized he was going to say anything. "We all sleep there. I slept there last night, and I feel very refreshed. It's got some, uh, like some lumbar support or something, and it's really good for your back." He gestured to his own back as proof, feeling like an idiot but unable to think of a graceful way out of the conversation he'd foolishly started. "You could try it out. I mean, if you wanted to."

He wasn't sure how to interpret the tiny smile that Tessa gave him, but when he finally made himself look over at Eliot, the hitter's expression told him that he'd made the right move, however clumsily he'd done it.

"He's right about that couch," Eliot said, pouring more pancake batter into the frying pan. "You should try it out."

"With such a ringing endorsement, I think I'll have to."

She didn't say anything else to either of them, but as she limped past Hardison, she kissed his cheek the same way she had Eliot's. He ducked his head to hide his smile and went to grab the spare blanket from the hall closet. By the time he returned with it, Tessa was already asleep, sprawled haphazardly across the couch.

"Give me that," Eliot said from behind him, and took the blanket from Hardison's unresisting grasp. Hardison watched the hitter tuck the blanket around her still form, brushing her hair away from her face with a surprisingly gentle hand.

"That's sweet," Hardison murmured to himself, wishing Sophie had been here to see the typically gruff Eliot tucking his assassin girlfriend in as though she was as fragile as spun glass.

"Huh?" Eliot asked, half-turning to look at Hardison, who immediately rethought the wisdom of calling Eliot 'sweet' where there was a chance Eliot might hear him.

"I said let's eat," he replied quickly, not waiting around to see if Eliot bought the lie. "My pancakes are over here getting cold, and Nate's are gonna burn."

Eliot returned to the kitchen with a muffled curse, but managed to rescue the pancakes. He started another batch as Nate came downstairs, fully dressed but still rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"I smell pancakes," Nate began, but cut himself off when Eliot shoved a full plate in his direction. "Ah. Thanks."

"I went over the surveillance from Bellington's house," Hardison said softly, with a glance toward the living room. "We got some good stuff. He made a call yesterday –"

"Hardison," Nate interrupted, his voice pitched as low as the hacker's as he leaned conspiratorially toward him.

"What?"

"Why are we whispering?"

"We're whispering?" Without warning, Parker had appeared behind Nate - from where, Hardison wasn't sure, and it would only give him a headache to try and figure out how she'd gotten into the apartment. "Why? Are we telling secrets?"

"No, we're trying not to wake up Tessa, who's asleep on Nate's couch," Hardison said, with a nod toward the couch. Nate straightened, looking like he might have something to say about that arrangement, but Parker cut him off.

"Tessa's back?" she said, perking up. "She was supposed to bring me a present -"

"Let her sleep," Eliot interrupted, handing Parker a plate of pancakes. "Here. Eat your breakfast. You can have your present later."

"So she did bring me something?" Parker bounced in her seat as she stuffed a whole pancake into her mouth with her bare hands. "What is it? Is it money? Did she steal it?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Eliot scolded her, exasperated. "And use a fork. You weren't raised in a barn."

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked Parker, sounding baffled. "Do barns have forks?"

"Never mind," Nate said, cutting off the argument before it could begin in earnest. "Let's just try and keep it down, all right?"

Parker muttered something about barns having pitchforks, and then frowned at Nate.

"Wait. I still don't understand why we're whispering."

"Because Tessa is sleeping," Hardison repeated patiently.

"Then shouldn't we just talk normally?" Parker looked over to Eliot for confirmation. "Doesn't she sleep like you sleep?"

Eliot looked pained, and Hardison guessed that whatever Parker was talking about wasn't something Eliot had planned on sharing with the whole team.

"How does he sleep?" Nate asked, interested.

"He says that people are easier to kill when they're sleeping, and if someone wants to kill you while you're asleep they'll try to sneak up on you and be quiet and whisper, and so he learned to wake up if people are being sneaky around him. So if I'm going to break into his place in the middle of the night, I need to make regular people noises and not sneaky noises so he doesn't wake up and think I'm someone who's trying to kill him."

"Why are you breaking into his place in the middle of the night?" demanded Hardison, and Parker shrugged.

"I get bored. And he's not usually asleep. Only sometimes."

"Tessa is okay with you breaking into Eliot's place?" Nate asked. Parker gave him a puzzled look.

"Why would Tessa care? It's not like I do it when she's there."

"You don't?"

"Nope. When she's there, I'm supposed to knock so she doesn't shoot me."

The sound of the front door opening was music to Eliot's ears. Maybe Sophie's arrival would give him the opportunity to redirect this conversation to a topic that wasn't going to result in bloodshed.

"Sorry I'm late," Sophie called to them, shutting the door and making a beeline for the kitchen. She barely even hesitated when she noticed Tessa asleep on the couch, and Eliot gave her points for not bringing it up. "Ooh, do I smell pancakes?"

Eliot handed her the plate he'd been saving for her. "Can we get started now?" he demanded, with a glare for Hardison that promised painful retribution if he didn't start talking about the job.

"Uh, yeah. Okay. So, I put together the surveillance on Bellington, and I found some interesting stuff."

He cued up the presentation to the screen in the dining room and launched into a detailed explanation of their mark's financial information. Anything to get Eliot to stop giving him that _look_.

* * *

Their planning session lasted two and a half hours. Eliot suspected Tessa hadn't really slept much - she wasn't used to sleeping in a room full of people, and it was hardly secure - but she gave every appearance of being asleep when the meeting finally broke up and he went over to wake her.

"Tess," he murmured, his hand touching her shoulder. "Hey. You up?"

"I am now," she replied, stretching lazily and yawning before letting Eliot pull her up to a sitting position. "This really is a nice couch."

"Can I have my present now?" Parker asked from the other side of the room, and Tessa smiled at Eliot.

"It's in my bag by the door, Parker."

Parker took off across the room, digging through Tessa's bag with abandon, and then stopped abruptly.

"Um…it's not a gun, is it? Like the one Sullivan got for you?"

"There is no gun like the gun that Sullivan got for me," Tessa replied, warming to the topic the same way she did whenever anyone brought it up. "She stole me the Philadelphia Derringer that John Wilkes Booth used to assassinate Lincoln. The actual gun. That was one of the most famous assassinations of all time."

"It's not like the security at the Ford's Theater Museum is that great," Parker muttered, and Tessa grinned.

"All of the guns in that bag are mine," she told Parker. "The papers in the envelope are for you."

Parker pulled out the envelope, coming back over to drop down onto the couch next to Tessa as she opened it.

"What did you - oh." Parker had finally gotten a look at Tessa's face, and she froze as she took in the hunter's battered appearance. "What happened to you?"

"Occupational hazard," Tessa replied, shrugging off the question. "Open the envelope."

Parker tore open the flap obediently and pulled out a thin stack of papers.

"Ooh, blueprints," she said, admiring the floor plan in front of her. "It looks like a museum, but I don't recognize it. It's pretty small…maybe eighty thousand square feet, total."

"That's small?" Eliot asked, and Parker shrugged.

"By museum standards it is," she pointed out. "The Louvre is six hundred and fifty-two thousand square feet. The Metropolitan Museum of Art is over two million."

"I'm not even surprised that you know that."

"It's the Children's Museum of Pittsburgh," Tessa said, interrupting Eliot.

Parker gave Tessa one of the looks that Eliot usually gave Parker, the ones that suggested there might be something wrong with her.

"Thanks?" Parker guessed, and Tessa laughed.

"They have a new exhibit coming next month that I thought you might like to take a private look at," Tessa explained. "It's a collection of famous people's childhood toys, including a bunch of stuffed animals."

"Seriously?" Parker asked, her face lighting up with excitement.

"There's a brochure under the blueprints."

The blonde flipped through the papers until she found the brochure, reading snippets of it aloud in wonder to Eliot and Tessa.

"Elvis Presley's teddy bear Mabel…I thought she got chewed up by a dog, but I guess they fixed her up. Oh, and Teddy from Gilligan's Island, and the other Teddy who belonged to Mr. Bean."

"I don't know if there will be any bunnies, but maybe Bunny would like to see it anyway."

"Bunny will love it," Parker declared, hugging the blueprints possessively to her chest. "This is awesome."

Tessa extended her arms to Parker, who hesitated for a second and then leaned into the embrace. Parker wasn't used to people just hugging her like that, but Tessa did it a lot. She only did it to her and Eliot, though, and when she'd asked Eliot about it he'd said that if Parker didn't want Tessa to hug her, she should just tell her to stop. Parker didn't want her to stop, really, she just wanted to know why Tessa hugged her but not Sophie or Nate or Hardison. Sophie was a really good hugger, but Parker was mostly awkward about it, and she had pointy elbows. If Tessa was going to pick someone on the team to hug, she'd probably do better hugging Sophie than Parker.

Eliot had shrugged at that and pointed out that Tessa knew Parker better than she knew the other three. It was true that Parker had been spending a lot of time with Eliot and Tessa; Nate and Sophie had been doing their weird kind-of-flirting stuff again, and Hardison had gotten a new video game that he played nonstop, so she'd been bored lately. And when Tessa was around, she was really fun to play with. She liked trying out Parker's new rigs, and she'd taught Parker a bunch of stuff about guns, and she was nice to Bunny. And when Tessa wasn't around…

Parker thought that when Tessa wasn't around, Eliot was probably sad. People were sad when the people they loved were gone. Eliot loved Tessa, and Parker loved Eliot - not boyfriend-girlfriend love, but some other kind of love where he thought she was weird but he still liked her and she thought he was nice even when he was cranky. She figured that if Tessa couldn't be with Eliot, she could go over to his place and keep him company. The first time she'd done it, he hadn't realized it was her breaking into his place and he'd thrown a knife at her, but she'd ducked, and after that they'd worked out a system so he'd know it was her and not somebody trying to kill him.

"Parker," Eliot said, and his tone of voice told her that this wasn't the first time he'd tried to get her attention.

"What?" she asked, startled. Eliot made one of his irritated faces.

"Tess needs to go upstairs and get some sleep."

"Okay," Parker agreed, and then realized that she still had her arms around Tessa. "Oh. Right."

She released Tessa and Eliot took her place, sliding his arm around Tessa's waist and pulling her to her feet.

"I'm fine, Eliot," Tessa insisted, and then hissed in pain when she put too much weight on her injured knee.

"Yeah, you're fine," Eliot retorted, sarcastic. "Parker, grab her bag and go open the door to my place, will you?"

Over Tessa's protests, Eliot picked her up, carrying her out of Nate's place and up the stairs. Once they were safely upstairs, Parker disappeared; probably back down to Nate's place, although with her anything was possible. Eliot grabbed a sports drink from the fridge, an ice pack from the freezer, and two bottles of pills from his extensive medicine cabinet, bringing all of it into the bedroom. Tessa was lying right where he'd left her, curled up on top of the duvet.

"Let me see that knee, darlin'," he said, and she rolled obediently onto her back, letting him pull off her jeans and inspect her swollen knee.

"It's just sprained," she told him. "I got lucky, Eliot. Sprained knee, sprained wrist, black eye. Small-time stuff."

"On a big-time job," Eliot added, placing the ice pack on her knee and handing her a couple of pills from each bottle. "Here. Anti-inflammatories and analgesics. No narcotics." He waited while she took the pills, washing them down with the purple Gatorade he'd brought her. "You're working too hard, Tess."

"That's rich, coming from you."

"I'm serious," he insisted. "Maybe our team works as many jobs a month as you do, but we do them as a team. You're working alone. It's more difficult and it's more dangerous."

She opened her mouth to argue with him, then shut it again, shaking her head.

"You're right."

"And you can't…" He trailed off as her words registered. "What?"

"You're right, Eliot," she sighed. "I never did this many jobs in Europe. I just - being back here in the US is weird for me, and now you have this incredible team that shouldn't work but it does, somehow, and I want to get to know them without interfering with your work, but I also feel the need to prove to myself that I can still do my job on my own. I think maybe I'm just - I don't know. Overwhelmed."

"Tess."

"Eliot." She gave him a wan smile, squeezing his hand. "I'm fine. I'll _be_ fine. You guys are leaving in an hour."

He growled at the reminder. He really didn't like having to leave her here alone while she was injured.

"We're talking about this when I get back."

That earned him a 'whatever' gesture as she settled in for another nap, and he stole a quick kiss as he grabbed his pre-packed duffle bag.

"Do me a favor, Tess. The team is only gonna be in Arizona for a couple of days. Don't take any more jobs while I'm gone."

"Eliot -"

"Just take a little break, darlin'. That's all I'm asking. It'll be fun. You can sleep in, take bubble baths, watch Nate's big screen TV…"

"This is really important to you, isn't it?" She'd opened her eyes again and was watching him with interest. "All right. If you insist, I'll take a couple of days off."

"Really?"

"Really."

"You promise?"

She snorted with laughter. "What is this, the third grade? I pinky swear, Eliot. I won't take any new jobs while you're gone."

"Good." He paused, knowing he had to get back down to Nate's but wanting to spend just a little while longer with her. "Did you know that the pinky swearing thing started with the Yakuza? If they offended their boss, they had to cut off part of their pinky finger as penance."

"I remember," she said, with a note of humor that surprised him. "It still makes me smile when I think about it."

He almost asked, and then he remembered that the Yakuza leader she'd assassinated had turned up missing a finger. The cops had thought he'd cut it off himself before slitting his wrists, since the finger had been next to the body and there was no sign that anyone else had been in the house.

"Remind me not to piss you off," he told her, tossing her an extra blanket as he headed for the door, and her laughter followed him out into the hallway.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: This chapter was supposed to be a short interlude to show that things aren't all sunshine and roses for Eliot and Tessa just because they're together now, but apparently they have way too much drama for a short anything. Leverage isn't mine, and reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

Between Hardison's Netflix subscription, Sophie's stash of Richart chocolates, and Nate's comfy couch and big-screen TV, Tessa was thoroughly enjoying her mini-vacation. The Leverage team would be gone for at least another 48 hours, which was plenty of time for her to replace the chocolates she'd devoured as well as the bottle of Lustau cream sherry that she'd been slowly working her way through as she watched a marathon of the first season of her new favorite show.

Several weeks ago, she'd overheard Hardison referring to her as 'Dexter' in a conversation with Nate. She hadn't gotten the reference at the time, but she'd looked it up later and found it to be an allusion to an American television series about a serial killer who killed other killers as a hobby. She'd been equal parts amused and offended for about fifteen minutes, and then put the whole thing out of her mind until she'd seen the show in the hacker's Netflix queue this morning. She'd spent the majority of today watching episode after episode, enthralled by the story of a man who, if he'd been just a tad less emotionally involved in his work, might have made a pretty good hunter.

"Taking trophies is a bad idea," she advised the screen for the hundredth time, taking another sip of sherry and popping a chocolate ganache into her mouth as Dexter dotted a victim's blood onto a slide for his collection. "Leave no trace, take no sign. It's the hunter motto."

The other hunter motto was 'Don't get caught'. It was shorter and more to the point. More of a corollary, really.

Her cell phone rang and she paused the show as she searched for it, finally finding it wedged between the couch cushions.

"Hello?"

"Tessa?"

She smiled at the familiar voice, poking around in the box of chocolates and contemplating which kind she wanted to try next.

"Hey, Jinx. What's going on?"

"Not much. I meant to call you sooner, but I've been busy with this job in Peru. I wanted to say thanks. You know, for Russia."

"I'm just glad you're all right."

"Thanks, Tessa." The younger girl sounded relieved, and Tessa wondered what Jinx had thought she was going to say. They'd been friends for years, even if they hadn't seen each other in a while, and she was a little hurt that Jinx was surprised Tessa would help her without expecting some sort of repayment.

Four months ago, the thought of being offended by something like that would never even have crossed her mind. She might even have expected that Jinx _would _repay her, rather than considering the rescue as a simple favor between friends. Clearly, Eliot's team was rubbing off on her. If she wasn't careful, she might find herself signing on to rescue kittens from trees, or whatever other do-gooder nonsense they got up to on their jobs.

"So, how's Peru?"

"Politically unstable," Jinx said gleefully. "Which means my work here is done. But I wasn't just calling to say thanks; I have news for you."

"You know how much I love gossip."

"I don't think you'll love this," Jinx warned her. "Do you remember the list you gave me of people you wanted me to watch?"

"Of course." It had been about a dozen names of people she had one reason or another to keep an eye on. Jinx had put them into some sort of database that let her know if anything changed with any of them, and she kept Tessa updated periodically. "Is someone misbehaving?"

"Somebody took a hit out on one of your people."

Tessa frowned. Most of the people on that list were former clients or associates she'd struck up at least a casual friendship with. Whoever it was, she was probably going to have to get off the couch and do something about it.

"Who?"

"Aimee Martin."

Tessa bit back a curse as she reached for the remote to turn off the TV. Her day had just gone from lazy and peaceful to very unpleasant. Her first thought was to call Eliot; she'd only put his ex-girlfriend on her watch list because she knew that he still cared about her, although Tessa despised the other woman for the way she'd treated Eliot. She'd much rather make Eliot go to Kentucky and deal with whatever mess Aimee had gotten herself into. Unfortunately, he was in Arizona with the rest of his team, and she couldn't interrupt him while he was working and risk shaking his concentration. She'd have to deal with it herself.

"Has anyone taken the job?"

"I don't know, but Jason Carter was the one who put out the hit."

She did swear this time, hurriedly capping the bottle of sherry and shoving it and the chocolates onto the kitchen counter as she calculated how long it would take her to get to the airport. Carter wasn't the type to screw around when he wanted someone dead.

"Can you get me a flight -"

"Already done. It leaves in thirty minutes, and I'll make sure they hold it for you."

"You're the best, Jinx."

"Yeah, I know."

* * *

The job in Arizona had, for once, gone completely according to plan. Eliot could count on one hand the number of times he'd come home from a job without any new injuries to nurse, and as a consequence he was in a pretty good mood when they got back to Nate's place.

That good mood lasted right up until he saw Tessa. She was sitting in Nate's dining room with a pistol lying on the table in front of her. The fading bruises from her last job were now juxtaposed with a set of fresh ones, as well as a split lip and a cut on her cheek. Her forearm was bandaged with gauze and white paper tape and cradled against her chest, suggesting a more serious injury.

"What the hell, Tess?" Eliot demanded, dropping his duffle bag by Nate's front door and striding over to where she sat. The rest of the team followed him in, and Hardison gave Sophie a worried look. Tessa looked seriously pissed off, and he didn't really want to stick around to find out why. "You promised me you'd stay out of trouble while we were gone."

"Stay out of trouble," she repeated, sounding thoroughly unamused. "Like a child. Or a puppy."

"I didn't mean -"

"The only reason I ended up in trouble is that you stole from Jason Carter and he decided to get back at you."

Eliot's expression was thunderous. "He came after you? Because of me?"

"Oh, no." She picked up the gun, sliding it into a holster at the small of her back as she stood. "He's not dumb enough to come after me. No, he put out a hit on your _girlfriend_, and you weren't around to take care of it, so I went in your place and managed to get shot trying to keep that stupid twit out of harm's way."

Eliot looked angry and confused right up until Tessa said she'd been shot. At that point, he tuned out the rest of her rant, all other concerns dwarfed in the face of those words.

"Let me see, Tess."

She raised her left arm, pointing grimly at the gauze dressing there. "It's just a graze. I'll be fine, no thanks to you."

"How is this my fault? I don't even know what happened! And what 'girlfriend' are you talking about? You're my girlfriend."

"Am I?" Tessa shot back. "Because she doesn't seem to know that, and apparently you two are very close. At least, that's what she says, between you calling to check up on her and stopping by to visit her and, oh yeah, you having _sex _with her!"

"Stop it, Tess! This is crazy!" Eliot was acutely aware of his team standing behind them, doing their best to pretend they weren't listening. He knew it was almost impossible to defuse a fight with Tessa once something set her off; he was going to have to ride it out until she'd vented her temper enough to be willing to listen to reason. He would have preferred to take Tessa outside and let her yell at him there, or at least get her to lower her voice, but if he moved any closer to her there was a real chance she'd throw a knife at his head. He'd much rather let the team hear them argue than see them get into a physical fight, especially considering that most of them still hadn't warmed to her. Seeing her throw a knife at him wouldn't exactly endear her to them. "Listen to me. I'm not dating anyone else, and I'm sure as hell not sleeping with anyone else. Whoever this woman is, she's lying to you."

"You know what? I don't think she is. Maybe you should talk to her about it."

"Fine. Where is she?"

"Nate's room."

"Oh, wonderful," Nate muttered to Sophie, who stepped lightly on his toes.

"Stay out of it," she instructed him, _sotto voce_. "This is none of our business."

"It's your business now," Tessa informed them, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "She's Eliot's girlfriend, you're Eliot's team; you do the math. I'm out of here."

"Tess -"

"I don't want to hear it, Eliot." She gave him an accusatory look. "I can't believe you would do something like this."

She stormed out of the room, leaving Eliot staring after her in bemused frustration.

"What just happened?" Eliot demanded of no one in particular. "Can somebody explain this to me, because I have no idea what the hell is going on! What _girlfriend_?"

"Eliot?"

As one, they all turned to the staircase, and Eliot's heart dropped when he saw the woman standing there.

"Aimee?"

"Oh, dear," Sophie murmured to Nate, who nodded.

"Yeah. This is not good."

* * *

Eliot was in the living room, talking to Aimee. His voice held an urgent undertone that was audible even from where Sophie and Hardison were standing in the dining room. Nate was making coffee, declaring that he couldn't deal with this situation without caffeine, and Parker -

Even as Sophie wondered where Parker had gotten to, the blonde was suddenly there, pulling Sophie away from Hardison and over to the far side of the room.

"What's wrong, Parker?"

"You need to go talk to Tessa. Right now."

Sophie frowned a little at how frantic the thief seemed.

"Don't get too worked up over this, Parker. Tessa and Eliot had a fight. Well, actually, Tessa had a fight and Eliot just sort of stood there. Anyway, I'm sure it's not the first time they've been angry with each other. You just have to give them both a chance to calm down."

"You don't _understand_. She's not happy. If she's not happy, maybe she'll leave."

"Tessa is an adult, Parker," Sophie pointed out gently. "I don't think she's going to leave just because she and Eliot had one argument, but if she does, that's her decision."

"She can't leave." Parker actually stomped her foot, as close to throwing a temper tantrum as Sophie had ever seen her. "If she leaves, she'll be sad and Eliot will be sad and Bunny will be sad."

"Bunny?" Sophie echoed, and Parker gave her an impatient look.

"Tessa and Bunny are friends. Keep up, Sophie, this is important! You're good at making people do what you want them to do, so go make Tessa not be mad at Eliot anymore."

Nate or Eliot would have run out of patience with Parker by this point, but Sophie gave the thief a good deal more leeway than they did. She knew that what mattered about this conversation was that Parker was truly upset about the idea of Tessa leaving, and instead of doing something insane on her own to try and rectify the situation, she'd come to Sophie for help. That was real progress, and Sophie needed to reward Parker's effort to reach out to her.

"All right, Parker. I'll talk to her."

Parker's hopeful expression could have melted a far harder heart than Sophie's.

"Good. She's on the roof."

* * *

"Eliot, what's wrong? What's going on?"

"What's going on?" he repeated, pulling Aimee away from the rest of the team and lowering his voice. "That's a good question, Aimee. What the hell _is_ going on?"

"You think I know?" she demanded, hands on her hips. "Your friend Tessa showed up at the ranch and told me that someone was trying to kill me, and then two guys with guns showed up and started shooting. _Shooting_, Eliot! At me!"

"Did you get hit?"

"No." She exhaled heavily. "No, but your friend did. I like to think I'm a pretty strong woman, Eliot, but I've never seen anybody get shot before. I kind of lost it for a little while. She was incredible, though. She just grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her arm and dragged me out of there. We ended up at the airport, and she got us onto a flight to Peru -"

"Peru?"

"Don't ask me how she did it. I didn't have my passport - I didn't even have my wallet, we left the ranch so fast, but she got us onto the flight anyway, and when we got to Peru there was a bag waiting for her in a locker. It had a first aid kit in it, and I went with her to the bathroom and watched her stitch up her own arm. Which was a little disturbing, by the way."

Eliot stayed silent, knowing that Aimee would be extremely disturbed by a number of the things he did on a regular basis.

"Then she pulled a couple of fake passports out of the bag, and we got on a different plane and ended up in Atlanta, and then Charlotte, and then New York City, and finally Boston."

"She was making sure no one could tail you," Eliot told her. "She must have had help to arrange the passports and the flights on such short notice." That help had probably been either Celia or Jinx, and given the type of help she'd received, he suspected it had been the hacker and not the demolitions expert. If Celia had been involved, something would have blown up.

"We never talked to anyone else, so I don't know. We spent basically two straight days on planes, Eliot. By the time we got here I was exhausted. She told me to go upstairs and sleep, so I did, and I woke up two minutes ago to people yelling. That's all I know."

"Aimee, listen carefully to me. What did you tell her?"

"Tessa?" Aimee asked, surprised by the question. "I don't know. We were stuck sitting next to each other for a really long time. She hardly spoke to me - I think her arm was bothering her - so when I wasn't busy being freaked out out, I just kind of babbled."

"Lemme be more specific. What did you tell her about _us_?"

Aimee's eyes widened, her mouth forming a small 'O' of dismay. "She's your girlfriend, isn't she."

It wasn't a question, but Eliot growled an answer anyway. "Yeah, she's my girlfriend, and she's furious with me because she thinks I'm sleeping with you behind her back."

"I didn't tell her that!"

"Well, that's what she heard."

"But I didn't -" Aimee paused, taking a deep breath. "Okay, let me think. I told her that I liked your friends when I met them in Kentucky last year, and that you and I had a good time reconnecting while you were there. And then…y'know, that was one of the only times she actually asked me a question."

"What question?"

"She asked if I still had feelings for you." She blushed lightly. "I told her that I did, a little, and that you did too, and that we'd tried to rekindle our old flame but you weren't the kind of guy who was ever going to settle down with a woman, and oh my God, Eliot, I am so sorry," she finished, clapping her hands over her mouth when she finally realized what she'd done.

She could tell just by looking at him that Eliot had clenched his jaw to keep from snarling at her. When she thought he had his temper under control, she made a tentative attempt to apologize.

"I really am sorry," she said, and he shook his head.

"Not your fault," he sighed. "You were just bein' friendly."

"I suspect she and I aren't ever going to be friends now," Aimee observed morosely, and Eliot snorted.

"That ain't your fault either," he assured her. "She wasn't ever gonna be your friend. She's…" Eliot racked his brain for an appropriate word that would describe Tessa's feelings toward Aimee without making her sound like a crazy person, and came up empty.

"She's possessive," Aimee supplied easily. "It's understandable, Eliot. You're a great guy and she doesn't want your ex stealing you away from her. If we were still together and you were spending time with her, I'd be insanely jealous."

"You would, huh?" he asked, his tone flirtatious, but he sobered quickly. If Tessa had been in the room when he'd said that, she might have shot him outright. It wasn't just his flirting; that was his default mode around women, and it didn't usually bother Tessa. It was the fact that he was flirting with Aimee, who was the only other woman he'd ever loved. In Tessa's mind, she was her only real competition for his affection, and at this point he doubted that any reassurance he offered her would convince her that there _was _no competition, that Tessa would always come first.

Aimee, who'd noticed the abrupt change in his expression, reached out to pat his shoulder reassuringly. "It'll all work out, Eliot."

"You sure about that?"

"I am," she confirmed. "She knew I was your old girlfriend, and she nearly got herself killed trying to save me anyway. She wouldn't have done that if she didn't really love you."

"Yeah," he agreed, still unconvinced. In love with him or not, Tessa could hold a grudge until the end of time.

"All you have to do is apologize to her."

"Apologize?" he demanded. "For what? I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Doesn't matter."

He gaped at her. If she thought he was going to apologize for something that was Tessa's fault, she was crazy. "She's the one who thought that I was -"

"Eliot, it doesn't matter," Aimee told him firmly. "Do you want to be right, or do you want your girlfriend back?"

"She's right," Nate volunteered from the kitchen, and Eliot turned around to glower ineffectually at him. "She's a woman and she's mad at you. It's your fault. Trust me."

"Yeah, it's like a rule. _Ipso facto_," Hardison chimed in, and Eliot growled.

"I didn't ask any of you -"

"That's the thing about friends, Eliot," Aimee informed him with a grin. "You don't have to ask."

* * *

Tessa was where Parker had said she'd be, sitting with her back to one of the brick barriers on the roof of the building. She looked up when Sophie came through the door, and the grifter caught a glimpse of something shiny in her hand. It was a knife, she realized with some alarm as Tessa tossed it into the air and caught it one-handed.

"That looks quite sharp," Sophie said, coming over to take a seat next to Tessa. She winced a little when her silk Fendi skirt made contact with the dirt and grit of the rooftop, and reminded herself that she was doing this for Parker. If she asked, the thief would happily break into Neiman Marcus and steal her a new skirt.

"That's kind of the point," Tessa observed humorlessly. "Pun intended."

Tessa clearly wasn't in the mood for idle chit-chat. Unfortunately, Sophie couldn't just leave her alone, which was what she was pretty sure they would both prefer.

"You know, I haven't been able to place your accent," Sophie said, searching for a safe topic of conversation. "It's sort of French, but with a Russian twist to it."

"Those are the two places I lived the longest," Tessa agreed. Her accent sounded strange to her own ears sometimes; she'd been born in New York, but had acquired a sort of blended European accent after living on the other side of the Atlantic for almost fifteen years. The accent was a shield, yet another safety measure to make sure that no one figured out who she really was. Even Eliot, who knew more about her than anyone else did, still didn't know her real name.

Thinking of Eliot brought back all of the emotions she'd nearly managed to quell, and she glared at Sophie.

"What exactly do you want?"

Sophie looked a little taken aback. "I'm just concerned. You seemed very upset downstairs. I wanted to see if you needed anything."

"A break," Tessa said, leaning back against the brick wall. "What I really need is a break from all of this. Which I was taking, by the way, before I got the call that Eliot's ex had made someone's hit list."

Sophie was silent for a moment, taking in Tessa's slumped posture and weary expression.

"It must be very hard for you," Sophie said finally. "You risked your life to save a woman you don't even like."

"I didn't have any choice. Carter put a hit out on Aimee because he wanted to hurt Eliot. You know Eliot, Sophie. What do you think it would do to him if someone he cared about was killed because of him?"

It would destroy him. Sophie knew it as well as Tessa did, and she felt a surge of sympathy for the younger woman.

"I appreciate what you did, Tessa."

"That's nice, but I didn't do it for you," Tessa pointed out. "And Eliot doesn't seem very damned appreciative."

That might have been because Tessa had turned on him the moment he walked through the door, not giving him a chance to figure out what was going on before she attacked him, but Sophie didn't think that pointing that out would be helpful.

"I'm not sure he wants to admit to himself that you put your life in danger for him," she said finally, which was probably true regardless of the situation.

"He knows I've always hated Aimee for the way she treated him," Tessa replied, a little of the old anger slipping into her voice. "What kind of woman makes a promise to a man who's risking his life fighting a war, and then does her best to break his heart and destroy his focus so he nearly ends up getting himself killed?"

"You hated her for that," Sophie agreed gently, guessing at another piece of the problem. "But you were also jealous of her, weren't you?"

For a moment, Sophie thought Tessa would deny it, and then the hunter shrugged, resigned.

"He loved her first. They were together before we ever met, and even after what she did to him, he still loved her. But when we first got together, he told me that it was over between them, and I believed him. And now..."

Realization hit Sophie suddenly, and the rest of the puzzle pieces fell into place.

"Aimee told you what happened between them when we took that job in Kentucky."

"She thought she was being friendly." Tessa rubbed a hand over her face. "It just added insult to injury. She thanked me for helping her and said that I must be part of Eliot's team if he'd sent me to Kentucky to rescue her, and that she was sorry she hadn't met me when the rest of the team had been down there helping her father. I asked her about it, and she…" She gestured vaguely. "She told me everything. That they made up, that they slept together. That he calls to check up on her. That he still has feelings for her."

"If it helps, that job was almost two years ago, and I don't think he's been back to Kentucky since. I'd be very surprised if he's been in contact with her at all since you came back into his life."

"It doesn't matter. He still went back to her," she said, through clenched teeth. "After what she did to him, and after he promised me that they were through, he went back to her."

"Mmm. Tell me this, Tessa. Are you angry with him for going back to Aimee, or are you angry with yourself because you know he never would have done it if he'd known you were still alive?"

There was a period of silence, during which Sophie suspected Tessa was thinking about doing something unpleasant to her.

"Who says I have to pick one?" Tessa snapped finally. "Just because I'm mad at myself doesn't mean I can't be mad at him."

"When he found out you were dead, he must have been heartbroken, Tessa. Maybe he turned to her for comfort because she was familiar."

Tessa buried her face in her hands with a groan, her hair tumbling forward over her shoulders.

"This is my fault," she admitted, her voice muffled. "I can't believe I yelled at him like that in front of your entire team. I swear I'm not usually such a shrew."

"'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'," Sophie quoted, relieved that Tessa finally seemed to be calming down. "You thought Eliot had betrayed you and you were angry. We can all understand that."

"Thanks, Sophie." She paused, then added, "Since we appear to be bonding, maybe now would be the time to tell you that I owe you a box of Richart chocolates to replace the one you were keeping in Nate's pantry."

"Thief," Sophie accused, not without humor, and Tessa flashed her a quick smile.

"So are you."

"Well, yes."

"Am I interrupting?"

They both looked over at the door to the roof, where Eliot was standing. Sophie got to her feet, giving Tessa a wink before heading over toward the door.

"I'll leave you two alone," she murmured, stepping around him and heading back downstairs.

Tessa got to her feet as Eliot approached, and they stared at each other for a long moment.

"I'm sorry," they both said simultaneously, and then laughed at themselves as the tension between them eased.

"I know what I'm sorry for," she said. "That list includes jumping to conclusions about you and Aimee and throwing a tantrum in front of your team. I'm not clear on what you're sorry for."

"Whatever I did?" he guessed, and she sighed.

"You slept with her, Eliot. You told me that you were over her, permanently, and then you slept with her. Even if we weren't together at the time, I still feel betrayed. Do you get that?"

"Yeah, I get it, Tess, but we weren't just 'not together' then. I thought you were dead." He studied her expression, trying to judge whether she was still angry. As usual, she was difficult to read. "You let me believe you were dead. You don't get to judge me for sleeping with Aimee when you let me spend three years believing that you were dead and it was my fault."

"You said you forgave me for -" she started to reply, heated, and then the rest of what he'd said sank in. "Wait. Eliot, Strasbourg wasn't your fault."

"I told you that Leontinev was selling kids, you confronted him, and you died. Sounds like clear cause and effect to me."

"Oh, God, Eliot," she breathed, reaching impulsively for him. He let her pull him into an embrace, her forehead pressed against his. "It wasn't your fault, it was mine. It was never your fault."

"You told me it was." His fingers were tangled in her hair now, the windblown strands tamed by gentle hands. "Back at the cabin, you said yourself that you only started looking into Leontinev after I told you to. If I'd stayed out of it, none of this ever would have happened."

"Sooner or later, I would've found out. He wasn't going to be able to hide something like that from me forever. You can't blame yourself."

"You blamed me, Tess. If you hadn't, you would have told me that you were still alive."

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat.

"I'm awful," she whispered, pulling away from him. "How could I have done this to you? I'm even worse than she is -"

"Stop," he instructed her, tugging her back into his arms and holding her tight against his chest. "Stop saying that, Tess. You didn't mean to hurt me. I don't think Aimee really meant to hurt me, either, way back then. That's why I never blamed her for dumping me the way that you blamed her for it. She was doing what was best for her, and so were you."

Tessa was crying now, which always made him want to punch something; preferably, whatever was making her cry. That didn't appear to be an option this time, so he just kept holding her and hoping she'd realize that this was a waste of precious time and energy, agonizing over stuff that was already done and over with. The past wasn't worth that kind of heartache.

"Listen to me, Tess. If Aimee hadn't dumped me, I wouldn't have ended up falling in love with you, and you were the best thing that ever happened to me. And if I hadn't thought you were dead, I probably never would have taken the job against Dubenich that led to me joining this team." His voice took on a note of fond exasperation. "I don't want to think about what my life would be like without Sophie and Nate and Parker, and even Hardison."

She laughed shakily at the way he said the hacker's name, with a little less 'fond' and a little more 'exasperation' than he'd said the other three.

"What's done is done, darlin'. All that matters is that we're together now, and I'm sure as hell not going to lose you again. Okay?"

Tessa sniffled, wiping roughly at her cheeks. "Yeah. Okay."

"Let the past go. Don't beat yourself up for stuff you did years ago. And it'd be nice if you could try and forgive me for the stuff _I _did years ago. Aimee and I are long over."

"I wasn't ever really mad at you for getting back together with Aimee," she admitted. "Or if I was, I was a thousand times angrier with myself because I knew it never would have happened if I hadn't let you believe I was dead. Sophie was right about that."

"She's got this annoying habit of being right about stuff like that," Eliot agreed. "Why'd she come after you, anyway? To be nice or to be nosy?"

"I don't think it had anything to do with me," she replied with a half-smile. "When I left Nate's place, Parker followed me up here. I didn't say anything to her; I was still fuming, and I figured if she really wanted to talk, she would. She watched me for a while and then disappeared, and not even two minutes later, Sophie was here."

"So Parker - what? Delegated the problem to Sophie?"

"That's my best guess. It wasn't a bad plan, Eliot. Sophie is very persuasive."

"It's part of her charm." He draped one arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. "You ready to go back in there?"

"Do I have to?"

"We've gotta do something about Carter, before he puts out a hit on someone else." He touched her injured arm lightly with his free hand. "And I want to take a look at that."

"It was a pretty good one-handed suture job, if I do say so myself," she replied, inspecting the gauze dressing with an appreciative eye.

"You know you grossed Aimee out, doing that in front of her."

Tessa grinned, unabashedly gleeful. "I know."

"You're bad."

"I know," she agreed again, and stole a kiss as they headed back inside.


End file.
